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I 


.^^^ 


PAUL  cV  VIRGINIA. 

TRANSLATED 

FROM  THE  FRENCH 

OF- 

BERNARDIN  SAINT  PIERRE , 

BY 

HELEN  MARIA   WILLIAMS. 

tKCÏit^  Cng;rat)ing«(  on  2î23ooïj, 

BY 

ANDERSON. 


ii5f  lD.'|îorfe  : 

PUBLISHED    BY    EVERT    DUYCKIVCK, 
NO.    110    PEARL-STREET. 


L.  NICHOLS.  Pf/W. 


\ 


THE 

WILLIAM  R.  PERKINS 

LIBRARY 

OF 
DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


■o  1*^    i   I   t 


PREFAC: 


A.  HE  following  Translation  of  Paul 
(nul  Fii-gùiia  was  written  at  Paris,  a- 
midst  the  horrors  of  Robespierre's  tyran- 
ny. During  that  gloomy  epocha  it  was 
difTicult  to  find  occupations  which  might 
cheat  the  days  of  calamity  of  their  wea- 
ry length.  Society  had  vanished;  and, 
amidst  the  minute  vexations  of  Jacobini- 
cal despotism,  which,  while  it  murdered 
in  Mass,  persecuted  in    detail,  the  re- 

A 


a  PREFACE. 

sources  of  writing,  and  eveil  reading, 
were  encompassed  with  danger.  The 
researches  of  domiciliary  visits  had  ah-ea- 
ôy  compelled  me  to  commit  to  the  flames 
a  manuscript  volume,  where  I  had  traced 
the  political  scenes  of  which  I  had  been 
a  witness,  with  the  coloring  of  their  first 
impressions  on  my  mind,  with  those  fresh 
tints  that  fade  from  Recollection  :  and 
since  my  pen,  accustomed  to  follow  the 
impulse  of  my  feelings,  could  only  have 
drawn  at  that  fatal  period,  those  images  of 
desolation  and  despair  which  haunted  my 
imagination,  and  dwelt  upon  my  heart, 
wanting  was  forbidden  employment.  Even 
reading  had  its  perils  j  for  books  had 
sometimes  aristocratical  insignia,  and 
sometimes  counter-revolutionary  allusi- 
ons: and  when  the  Administrators  of 
Police  happened  tft}t!'^y.ik  the  Writer  a . 
conspirator,  they  punished  the  Reader  as 
his  accomplice. 


PREFACE.  iti" 

In  this  situation  I  gave  myself  the  task 
of  employing  a  kw  hours  every  day  in 
translating  the  charming  little  Novel  of 
Bernardin  St.  Pierre,  entitled  '  Paul  and 
Virginia  ;'  and  I  found  the  most  sooth- 
ing relief  in  wandering  from  my  own 
gloomy  reflections  to  tho.se  enchanting 
scenes  of  the  Mauritius,  which  he  has  so 
admirably  described.  I  also  composed 
a  few  Sonnets  adapted  to  the  peculiar 
productions  of  that  part  of  the  globe, 
which  are  interspersed  in  the  Work. 
Some,  indeed,  are  lost,  as  well  as  a  part 
of  the  Translation,  which  1  have  since 
supplied,  having  been  sent  to  the 
^lunicipality  of  Paris,  in  order  to  be  ex- 
amined as  English  papers;  where  they 
still  remain,  mingled  with  revolutionary 
placards,  motions,  and  harangues;  and 
are  not  likely  t^  '  restored  to  my  pos- 
session. 


iv  PREFACE. 

With  respect  to  the  Translation,  1 
can  only  hope  to  deserve  the  humble 
merit  of  not  having  deformed  the  beauty 
of  the  original.  I  have,  indeed,  taken 
one  liberty  with  my  Author,  which  it  is 
fit  I  should  acknowledge,  that  of  omit- 
ting several  pages  of  general  observa- 
tions, which,  however  excellent  in  them- 
selves, would  be  passed  over  with  impati- 
ence by  the  English  reader,  when  they 
interrupt  the  pathetic  narrative.  In  this 
respect,  the  two  nations  seem  to  change 
characters;  and  while  the  serious  and  re- 
flecting Englishman  requires,  in  novel- 
^vriting,  as  well  as  on  the  theatre,  a  ra- 
pid succession  of  incidents,  much  busll||| 
and  stage  eifect,  without  suffering  the 
author  to  appear  himself,  and  stop  the 
progress  of  the  story  ;  the  gay  and  rest- 
less Frenchman  listens  attentively  to  long 
philosophical  reflections,  while  the  catas- 
trophe of  the  drama  hangs  in  suspense. 


PREFACi:.  y 

My    Jast    poetical    prodiicUons,  (the 
Sonnets,  which  are   interspersed   in  this 
Work,)  may  perhaps  be  found  even  more 
imperfect  than  my  earlier  compositions; 
since,  after  a  long  exile  from  England,  I 
can  scarcely  flatter  myself  that  my  ear  is 
become  more  attuned  to  the  harmony  of 
a  language,  with  the  sounds  of  which  it 
is  seldom  gladdened  ;  or  that  my  poeti- 
cal taste  is  improved  by  living  in  a  coun- 
t^ry  where  arts  have  given  place  to  arms. 
But  the    Public    will,    perhaps,  receive 
with  indulgence   a  work   written    under 
such  peculiar  circumstances  ;  not  compos- 
ed in  the  calm  of  literary  leisure,  or  in 
pursuit  of  literary  fiime,  but  amidst  the 
^  turbulence  of  the  most  cruel  sensations, 
and  in  order  to  escape  awhile  from  over- 
whelming misery. 

HELEN  MARIA  WILLIAMS. 

Fan's,  June  y  1795. 


PAUL 

AND 

VIRGINIA. 


V/N  the  eastern  coast  of  the  mountain  which  rises  above 
Port  Louis  iif  the  Mauritius,  upon  a  piece  of  land  bear- 
ing the  marks  of  former  cultivation,  are  seen  the  ruins 
of  two  small  cottages.  Those  ruins  are  situated  near 
tlie  centre  of  a  valley,  formed  by  immense  rocks,  and 
which  opens  only  towards  the  north.  On  the  left  rises  the 
mountain  called  the  Height  of  Discovery,  from  whence 
the  eye  marks  the  distant  sail  when  it  first  touches  the 
verge  of  the  horizon,  and  wlicnce  the  signal  is  given 
wlien  a  vessel  approaches  the  island.  At  the  foot  of  this 
mountain  stands  tlie  town  of  Port  Louis.  On  the  right 
is  formed  the  road  which  stretches  from  Port  Louis  to 
the  Shaddock  Grove,  where  the  church,  bearing  that 
name,  lifts  its  head,  surrounded  by  its  avenues  of  bam- 
boo, in  the  midst  of  a  spacious  plain  ;  and  the  prospect 
terminates  in  a  forest  extending  to  tiie  furthest  bounds 
of  the  island.  The  front  view  presents  the  bay,  denomi- 
nated Uie  Bay  of  the  Tomb  :  a  htlle  on  the  right  is  setn 


s      '  TAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

the  Cape  of  Misfortune;  and  beyond  rolls  the  expand- 
ed ocean,  on  the  surface  of  which  appear  a  few  uninha*- 
bited  islands,  and,  among  others,  the  Point  of  Endeavor, 
which  resembles  a  bastipu  built  upon  the  flood. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  valley,  which  presents  those 
various  objects,  the  echoes  of  the  mountain  incessantly 
repeat  the  hollow  murmurs  of  the  winds  that  shake  the 
reighboring  forests,  and  tiie  tumultuous  dashing  of  the 
^vaves  whith  break  at  a  distance  upon  the  cliffs.  But  near 
the  ruii.ed  cottages  all  is  calm  and  still,  and  the  only  ob- 
jects which  there  meet  the  eye  are  rude  steep  rocks,  that 
rise  like  a  surrounding  rampart.  Large  clumps  of  trees 
grow  at  their  base,  on  their  rifted  sides,  aiid  even  on 
their  majestic  tops,  where  the  clouds  seem  to  repose. 
The  showers,  which  their  bold  points  attract,  often  paint 
tlie  vivid  colors  of  the  rainbow  on  their  green  and  brown 
declivities,  and  swell  the  sources  of  the  litUe  river  which, 
flows  at  their  feet,  called  the  river  of  Fan-Palms. 

WiTHiK  this  enclosure  reigns  the  most  profound 
silence.  The  waters,  the  air,  all  the  elements,  are  at 
peace.  Scarcely  does  the  echo  repeat  the  whispers  of 
the  palm-trees  spreading  their  broad  leaves,  the  long' 
]X)ints  of  whicii  a:e  gently  balanced  by  the  winds.  A 
soft  light  illuminates  the  bottom  of  this  deep  valley,  on 
which  the  sun  only  shines  at  noon.  But  even  at  break 
of  day  the  rays  of  light  are  thrown  on  the  surrounding 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  9 

rocks  ;  and  their  sharp  peaks,  rising  above  the  shadows 
of  the  mountain,  appear  like  tints  of  gold  and  purple 
gleaming  upon  the  azure  sky. 

To  this  scene  I  loved  to  resort,  where  I  might  enjoy 
at  once  the  richness  of  the  extensive  landscape,  and  the' 
cliarm  of  uninterrupted  solitude.  One  day  when  I  was 
seated  at  the  foot  of  the  cottages,  and  contemplating  their 
ruins,  a  man  advanced  in  years,  passed  near  tiie  spot. 
He  was  dressed  in  the  ancient  garb  of  the  island,  his  feet 
were  bare,  and  he  lec.ned  uj.on  a  staff  of  ebony  ;  his 
hair  was  white,  and  the  expression  of  his  countenance 
was  dignified  and  interesting.  I  bowed  to  him  with  re- 
spect ;  he  returned  the  salutation  ;  and,  after  looking  at 
me  with  some  earnestness,  came  and  placed  himself  upon 
the  hillock  where  I  was  seated.  Encouraged  by  tbii 
mark  of  confidence,  I  thus  addressed  liim  : 

*'  Father,  can  you  tell  me  to  whom  those  cot- 
tages once  belonjed  ?"  "  My  son,"  replied  the  old  man, 
"  those  heaps  of  rubbish,  and  that  untilled  land,  were 
•twenty  years  ago  the  property  of  two  families  who  tlieii 
found  happiness  in  this  solitude.  Their  history  is  affect- 
ing ;  but  what  European,  pursuing  his  way  to  the  In- 
dies, will  pau^.e.one  moment  to  interest  himself  in  the 
fateof  afew  obscure  individuals?  What  European  can 
picture  happiness  to  his  imagination  amidt  poverty  and 
neglect?   The  curiosity  of  mankind  is  onl}  attracted  by 


10  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

the  history  of  tlie  great  ;  and  yet  from  that  knowledge 
little  use  can  be  derived."  "  Father,"  I  rejoined,  "  froju 
your  manners  and  your  observations,  I  perceive  that  you 
have  acquired  much  experience  of  liuman  life.  If  you 
have  leisure,  relate  to  me,  I  beseech  you,  the  history  of 
the  ancient  inhabitants  of  this  desart  ;  and  be  assured, 
that  even  the  men  who  are  most  perverted  by  the  pre- 
judices of  the  world,  find  a  soothing  pleasure  in  contem- 
plating that  happiness  which  belongs  to  simplicity  and 
virtue."  The  old  man,  after  a  short  silence,  during  which 
he  leant  his  face  upon  his  hands,  as  if  he  were  trying  to 
recal  the  images  of  the  past,  thus  began  his  narration: 

'<  Monsieur  de  la  Tour,  a  young  man  who  was  a 
native  of  Normandy,  after  having  in  vain  solicited  a  com- 
mission in  the  French  army,  or  some  support  from  his 
own  family,  at  length  determined  to  seek  his-  fortutje  in 
this  island,  where  he  arrived  in  1726.  Hebrouglit  hitlier 
a  young  woman,  wliom  he  loved  tenderly,  and  by  whom 
he  was  no  less  tenderly  beloved.  She  belonged  to  a  rich 
and  ancient  family  of  the  same  province  :  but  he  liad 
married  her  without  fortune,  and  in  opposition  to  tiie  will , 
of  her  relations,  who  refused  their  consent,  because  he 
was  found  guilty  of  being  descended  from  parents  who 
had  no  claims  to  nobility.  Monsieur  de  la  Tour,  leaving 
his  wife  at  Port  Louis,  embarked  for  Madagascar,  in  or- 
der to  purchase  a  few  &la\  es  to  assist  him  in  forming  a 
plantation  in  this  island.     He  landed  at  that  unhealtiiy 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  H 

season  which  commences  about  the  middle  of  October; 
and  soon  after  Jiis  arrival  died  of  tiie  pestilential  fever, 
t\'Iiich  prevails  in  that  country  six  months  of  the  year, 
aiid  which  will  forever  baflle  the  attempts  of  the  Euro- 
pean nations  to  form  establishments  on  that  fatal  soil. 
His  effects  were  seized  upon  by  the  rapacity  of  stran- 
gers ;  and  his  wife,  who  was  pregnant,  found  herself 
a  widow  in  a  country  where  she  had  neither  credit  nor 
recommendation,  and  no  earthly  possession,  or  rather 
support,  than  one  negro  woman.  Too  delicate  to  solicit 
protection  or  relief  from  any  other  man  after  the  death 
of  liim  whom  alone  she  loved,  misfortune  armed  her 
.  wuh  courage,  and  she  resolved  to  cultivate,  with  her 
''  slave,  a  little  spot  of  ground,  and  procure  for  lierself 
the  means  of  subsistence.  In  an  island  almost  a  desart, 
and  wliere  the  ground  was  left  to  the  choice  of  the 
settler,  she  avoided  those  spots  which  were  most  fertile, 
and  most  favorable  to  commerce  ;  and  stoking  some  nook 
«if  the  mountain,  some  secret  asylum,  where  she  might 
hve  solitary  and  unknown,  she  bent  lier  way  from  the 
town  toward  those  rocks,  wliere  she  wished  to  shelter  her- 
self as  in  a  nest.  All  suffering  creatures,  fiom  a  sort  of 
common  instinct,  tly  for  refuge  amidst  their  pains  to 
haunts  the  most  wild  and  desolate;  as  if  rocks  could 
form  a  rampart  against  misfortune;  a,  if  the  calm  of  nar 
ture  could  hush  the  tumults  of  the  soul.  That  Provi- 
dence, wiiich  lends  its  support  when  we  ask  but  the  sujî- 
ply  of  our  necessary  wants,  had  a  blessing  iu  R^cive  for 


Igl  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Madame  la  Tour,  wliich  neither  riches  nor  greatness  can 
purchase;  this  blessing  was  a  friend. 

The  spot  to  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  fled  had 
already  been  inhabited  a  year  by  a  young  woman  of  a 
lively,  good-natured,  and  aflfecLionate  disposition.  Mar- 
garet (for  that  was  her  name)  was  born  in  Brittany,  of 
a  family  of  peasants,  by  whom  she  was  clierished  and 
beloved  ;  and  witli  whom  she  miglit  have  passed  life  in 
simple  rustic  happiness,  if,  mislead  by  the  weakness  of 
a  tender  heart,  she  had  not  listened  to  the  passion  of  a 
gentleman  in  the  neighborhood,  who  promised  her  mar- 
riage. He  soon  abandoned  her,  and,  adding  inliumani- 
ty  to  seduction,  refused  to  ensu--"  a  provision  for  the 
child  of  which  she  was  pregnant.  Margaret  then  deter- 
mined to  leave  for  ever  her  native  village,  and  go,  wliere 
lier  fault  might  be  concealed,  to  some  colony  distant 
from  that  country  where  she  had  lost  the  only  portion  of 
a  poor  peasant  girl,  her  reputation.  With  some  bor- 
rowed money  she  purchased  an  old  negro  slave,  with 
■whom  she  cultivated  a  little  spot  of  this  canton.  Here 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  followed  by  her  negro  woman, 
found  Margaret  suckling  her  child.  Soothed  by  the 
eight  of  a  person  in  a  situation  somewhat  similar  to  her 
own,  Madame  de  la  Tour  related,  in  a  few  words,  her 
past  condition  and  her  present  wants.  Margaret  was 
deeply  alTected  by  the  recital  ;  and,  more  anxious 
to  excite  confidence  Ihaa  esteem,  she  confessed,  without 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  I3 

disguise,  the  errors  of  which  she  had  been  guilty. .."  Ac 
for  me,"  said  she,  "  I  deserve  my  fate  ;  but  you.  Ma- 
dam, you  !  at  once  virtuous  and  unhappy.. ..And,  sob- 
bing, she  oifered  Madame  de  la  Tour  both  her  hut  and 
her  friendsliip.  The  lady,  affected  by  this  tender  recep- 
tion, pressed  her  in  licr  arms,  and  exclaimed,  "Ah, 
surely  Heaven  will  put  an  end  to  my  misfortunes,  since 
it  inspires  you,  to  whom  I  am  a  stranger,  with  more 
goodness  tovrards  me  than  I  have  ever  experienced  frpra 
my  own  relations  r"  ^y,    i 

I  KNEW  Margaret,  and,  although  my  habitation 
is  a  league  and  a  half  from  hence,  in  the  woods  behind 
that  sloping  mountain,  I  considered  myself  as  her  neigh- 
bor. In  the  cities  of  Europe  a  street,  sometimes  even  a 
less  distance,  separates  families  whom  nature  had  united  ; 
but  in  new  colonies  we  consider  those  persons  as  neigh- 
bors from  whom  we  are  divided  only  by  woods  and 
mountains:  and  above  all,  at  that  period,  when  this 
inland  liad  little  intercourse  witli  the  Indies,  neighbor- 
hood alone  gave  a  claim  to  friendship,  and  hospitality 
towards  strangers  seemed  less  a  duty  than  a  pleasure. 
No  sooner  was  I  informed  that  Margaret  had  found  a 
tor.ipanion,  than  I  hastened  hither,  in  the  hope  of  being 
usei'ul  to  my  neighbor  and  her  guest. 

*      Madame  dc  la  Tour  possessed   all  tliose  melan- 
choly graces  which  give  beauty  additional  power,  by 
B 


14  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 

blending  sympathy  with  admiration.  Her  figure  was  in- 
teresting, and  her  countenance  expressed  at  once  dignity 
and  dejection.  She  appeared  to  be  in  the  last  stage  o£ 
her  pregnancy.  I  told  them  that,  for  the  future  interests 
of  their  children,  and  to  prevent  the  intrusion  of  any 
other  settler,  it 'was  necessary  they  should  divide  between 
them  the  property  of  this  wild  sequestered  valley,  wliich 
is  nearly  twenty  acres  in  extent.  They  confided  that 
task  to  me,  and  I  marked  out  two  ecjual  portions  of  land. 
One  includes  the  higher  part  of  this  inclosure,  from  the 
peak  of  that  rock  buried  in  clouds,  wlience  springs  the 
rapid  river  of  Fan-Palms,  to  that  wide  cleft  whicii  you 
see  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  and  which  is  called 
the  Cannon's  Mouth,  from  the  resemblance  in  its  form. 
It  is  diflkulttofind  a  path  along  this  wild  portion  of  inclo- 
sure, the  soil  of  which  is  incumbered  with  fragments  of 
rock,  or  worn  iuto  channels  formed  by  torrents  ;  yet  it  pro- 
duces noble  trees  and  innumerable  fountains  and  rivulets. 
The  other  portion  of  land  is  comprised  in  tlie  plain  ex- 
tending along  the  banks  of  the  river  of  Fan-Palms,  tcr 
the  opening  where  we  are  now  seated,  from  wlience  the 
river  takes  its  course  between  those  two  hills,  until  ii  falls 
into  the  sea.  You  may  still  trace  the  vestiges  of  some 
meadow-land  ;  and  this  part  of  the  common  is  less  rug- 
gcd,  but  not  more  valuable  llian  the  other;  since  in  the 
rainy  season  it  becomes  marshy  ;  and  in  dry  weatlier  is 
so  hard  and  unbending,  that  it  will  yield  only  to  th^ 
stroke  of  the  hatchet,    When  I  had  thus  dividetl  thé 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  15 

property,  1  i)ersuacled  my  neighbors  to  draw  lots  for 
their  separate  possessions.  Tlie  higher  portion  ot  land 
.became  tlie  property  of  Madame  de  la  Tour  ;  the  lower, 
of  Margaret  ;  and  each  seemed  satisfied  with  their  re- 
spective share.  They  iiitrcated  me  to  place  their  habi- 
tations together,  that  tiiey  might  at  all  times  enjoy  th« 
sootliiiig  intercourse  of  friendship,  and  the  consolation 
of  mutual  kind  offices.  Margaret's  cottage  was  situated 
near  tlie  centre  of  the  valley,  and  just  on  the  boundary 
of  her  own  plantation.  Close  to  tl\e  spot  I  built  ano- 
ther cottage  for  the  dwelling  of  Madame  de  la  Tour  : 
and  tluis  tlie  two  friends,  while  they  possessed  all  the 
advantages  of  neighborhood,  lived  on  their  own  pro- 
perty. I  myself  cut  palisades  from  the  mouhtain, 
and  brought  leaves  of  Fan-Palms  from  the  sea-shore, 
in  order  to  construct  those  two  cottages,  of  which  you 
can  now  discern  neither  the  entrance  nor  the  roof. 
Yet,  alas  !  there  still  remain  bat  too  many  traces  for  my 
remembrance!  Time,  which  so  rapidly  destroys  the 
proiul  monuments  of  empires,  seems  in  this  desart  to 
spare  those  of  friendship,  as  if  to  perpetuate  my  re- 
grets till  the  last  hour  of  my  existence. 

Scarcely    was  her  cottage  finished,  when  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tour  was  delivered  of  a  girl.     I  had  beea 
the  god-father  of  Margaret's  ciiild,  who  was  christen- 
ed b)  t!ie  name  of  Paul.     Madame  de  la  Tour  desir- 
ed inc  to  perform  the  same  olTice  for  her  child  also,  to- 


16  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

getlier  with  her  friend,  -who  gave  her  the  name  of 
\'irginia.  "  She  will  be  virtuous,"  cried  Margaret, 
"  and  she  will  be  happy.  I  have  only  known  mis- 
fortune by  wandering  from  virtue." 

At  the  time  Madame  de  la  Tour  recovered,  thos*? 
two  little  territories  had  already  begun  to  yield  some 
produce,  perliaps  in  a  small  degree  owing  to  the  care 
which  I  occasionally  bestowed  on  their  improvement, 
but  far  more  to  the  indefatigable  labors  of  the  two 
«laves.  Margaret's  slave,  wiio  was  called  Domingo, 
^vas  still  healthy  and  robust,  although  advanced  in 
years  ;  he  possessed  some  knowledge,  and  a  good  na- 
tural understanding.  He  cultivated  indiscriminately,  on 
both  settlements,  such  spots  of  ground  as  were  most 
fertile,  and  sowed  whatever  grain  he  thought  most  con- 
genial to  each  particular  soil.  Where  the  ground  was 
poor  he  strewed  maize  ;  where  it  was  most  fruitful  he 
planted  wheat,  and  rice  in  such  spots  as  were  marshy. 
He  threw  the  seeds  of  gourds  and  cucuiîibcrs  at  the 
foot  of  the  rocks,  which  tliey  loved  to  climb  and  de- 
corate with  their  luxuriant  foliage.  In  dry  spots  he 
cultivated  the  sweet  potato  ;  the  cotton-lree  flourished 
upon  the  heights,  and  the  sugar-cane  grew  in  the 
clayey  soil.  He  reared  some  plants  of  colTee  on  the 
hills,  where  the  grain,  although  small,  is  excellent. 
The  plantain-trees,  wliich  spread  their  grateful  shad^ 
on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  encucled  the  cottage, 


PAUL  AÎ^D  VIRGINIA.  17 

yielded  fruit  throughout  the  whole  year.  And  lastly, 
Domingo  cultivated  a  few  plants  of  tobacco,  to  charm 
away  his  own  cares.  Sometimes  he  was  employed  in 
cutting  wood  for  firing  from  the  mountain,  sometimes 
in  hewing  pieces  of  rock  within  the  inclosure,  in  order 
to  level  the  paths.  He  was  much  attached  to  Marga- 
ret, and  not  less  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  whose  negro- 
woman,  Mary,  he  had  married  at  the  time  of  Virginia's 
birth  ;  and  he  was  passionately  fond  of  his  wife.  Ma- 
ry was  born  at  Madagascar,  from  whence  she  had 
brougi)t  a  few  arts  of  industry.  She  could  weave  bas- 
kets, and  a  sort  of  stuff,  with  long  grass  that  grows 
in  the  woods.  She  was  active,  cleanly,  and,  above 
all,  faitliful.  It  was  her  care  to  prepare  their  meals, 
to  rear  the  poultry,  and  go  sometimes  to  Port  Louis, 
and  sell  the  superfluities  of  these  little  plantations, 
which  were  not  very  considerable.  If  you  add  to  the 
personages  I  have  already  mentioned  two  goats,  who 
were  brought  up  with  the  children,  and  a  great  dog; 
who  kept  watch  at  night,  you  will  have  a  complete 
idea  of  the  household,  ai  well  as  of  tlie  revenue  of 
those  two  farms. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her  friend  were  em- 
ployed from  morning  till  the  evening  in  spinning  cot- 
ton for  the  use  of  their  families.  Destitute  of  all 
those  things  which  their  own  industry  could  not  sup» 
ply,  they  walked  about  their  habitations  with  their 
b2 


18  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 

feet  bare,  and  shoes  were  a  convenience  reserved  for 
Sunday,  when  at  an  early  hour  they  attend  mass  at 
the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  which  you  see  yon- 
der. That  church  is  far  more  distant  than  Port  Louis; 
yet  they  seldom  visited  the  town,  lest  they  should  be 
treated  with  contempt,  because  they  were  dressed  in 
tiie  coarse  blue  linen  of  Bengal,  which  is  usually  worn 
by  slaves.  But  is  there  in  that  external  deference 
which  fortune  commands,  is  tliere  a  compensation  for 
domestic  happiness?  If  they  had  something  to  suffer 
from  the  world,  this  served  but  to  endear  their  humble 
liome.  No  sooner  did  Mary  and  Domingo  per- 
ceive them  from  this  elevated  spot,  on  the  road  of 
tlie  Shaddock  Grove,  than  they  flew  to  tlie  foot  of 
the  mountain,  in  order  to  help  them  to  ascend. 
They  discerned  in  the  looks  of  their  domestics  that  jay 
which  their  return  inspired.  They  found  in  their  re- 
treat neatness,  independence,  all  tliose  blessings  which 
are  the  recompence  of  toil,  and  received  those  services 
which  have  their  source  in  affection.  United  by  tlie 
tie  of  similar  wants,  and  the  sympathy  of  similar 
misfortunes,  they  gave  each  other  the  tender  names  of 
companion,  friend,  sister.  They  had  but  one  will, 
one  interest,  one  table.  All  their  possessions  were  in 
common.  And  if  sometimes  a  passion  more  ardent 
than  friendship,  awakened  in  their  hearts  the  pang  of 
\inavailing  anguish,  a  pure  religion,  united  with  chaste 
manners,  drew  their  affecUom    towards   another  life  ; 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


19 


as  the  Irenibliiig  flame  rises  towards  heaven,  when  it 
no  longer  iinds  any  aliment  on  earth. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  sometimes,  leaving  the 
hoiisehoid  cares  to  Margaret,  wandered  out  alone  ; 
and,  amidst  this  sublime  scenery,  indulged  that  luxury 
of  pensive  sadness,  which  is  so  soothing  to  the  mind 
after  the  fust  emotions  of  turbulent  sorrow  have  sub- 
sided. Sometimes  she  poured  fortii  tlie  elTusions  of 
melancholy  in  the  language  of  verse  ;  and,  although 
her  compositions  have  little  poetical  merit,  they  ap- 
pear to  me  to  bear  the  marks  of  genuine  sensibiiitv. 
Many  of  her  poems  are  lost  ;  but  some  still  rem;iin  in 
ray  possession,  and  a  few  still  hang  on  my  memory. 
1  will  repeat   to  you  a  soniiet  addressed  to  love. 


510  rAUJL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


SONNET 

TO  LO\'E. 


Ah,  Love!  creyotl  knew  tliy  fatal  pow'r. 

Bright  glow'd  the  color  of  my  youthful  days. 

As,  oil  the  sultry  zone,  the  torrid  rays 

That  paint  the  broad-leav'd  planlain'â  glossy  bower: 

Calm  was  my  bosom  as  this  silent  hour. 

When  o'er  the  deep,  scarce  heard,  tiie  ze[)liyr  strays, 

'Midst  the  cool  tamarinds  indolently  plays. 

Nor  from  the  orange  shakes  it's  od'rous  tiower  î 

But,  ah  !  since  Love   has  all  my   art   jiossest. 

That   desolated  heart  what  sorrows   tear  ? 

Disturbed,  and  wild  as  ocean's  troubled  breast. 

When  the  hoarse  tcm()eàt  of  the  night  is  there  ! 

Yet  my  complaining  spirit  asks   no  rest,; 

This  bleeding  bosom  cl><?rishes  despair. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  gl 

The  tender  and  sacred  duties  which  nature  im- 
posed became  a  source  of  additional  happiness  to  those 
afTeclionate  mothers,  whose  mutual  friendship  acquired 
new  strength  at  the  sight  of  their  children,  alike  the 
offspring  of  unhappy  love.  They  delighted  t«  place 
their  infants  together  in  the  same  bath,  to  nurse 
them  in  the  same  cradle,  and  sometimes  changed  the 
maternal  bosom  at  which  they  received  nourishment, 
as  if  to  blend  with  the  ties  of  friendship  that  instinc- 
tive affection  which  this  act  of  friendship  produces. 
"  My  friend,"  cried  Madame  de  la  Tour,  "  we  shall 
each  of  us  Jiave  two  children,  and  each  of  our  chil- 
dren will  have  two  mothers."  As  two  buds  which 
remain  on  two  trees  of  the  same  kind,  after  the  tem- 
pest has  broken  all  their  branches,  produce  more  de- 
licious fruit,  if  each,  separated  from  the  maternal  stem, 
be  grafted  on  the  neighboring  tree;  so  those  two  chil- 
dren, deprived  of  all  other  support,  imbibed  senli-ments 
more  tender  than  those  of  son  and  daughter,  brother 
and  sister,  when  exchanged  at  the  breast  of  those  wlio 
had  given  them  birth.  Wliile  tliey  were  yet  in  their 
cradle,  their  mothers  talked  of  their  marriage  ;  and 
this  prospect  of  conjugal  felicity,  with  whicji  they 
soothed  their  own  cares,  often  called  forth  the  tears 
of  bitter  regret.  The  misfortunes  of  one  mother  had 
arisen  from  having  neglected  marriage,  those  of  the 
other  from  having  submitted  to  its  laws:  one  had 
Ibcen  made  unhappy  by    attempting    to  raise   hersell 


22  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

above  her  humble  coiitlition  of  life,  the  other  by  de- 
scending from  her  rank.  But  they  found  consolation 
in  reflocling  that  their  more  fortunate  children,  far 
from  the  cruel  prejudices  of  Europe,  those  prejudices 
which  poison  the  most  precious  sources  of  our  liappi- 
ness,  would  enjoy  at  once  the  pleasure  of  love,  and 
the  blessings  of  equality. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  attacliment  which 
(hose  two  infants  already  displayed  for  each  other. 
If  Paul  complained,  his  mother  pointed  to  Virginia  ; 
and  at  that  sight  he  smiled,  and  was  appeased.  If 
any  accident  befel  Virginia,  the  cries  of  Paul  gave 
notice  of  the  disaster  ;  and  then  Virginia  would  sup- 
press her  conaplaints  when  she  found  that  Paul  was 
unhappy.  When  I  came  hither,  I  usually  found  them 
quite  naked,  which  is  the  custom  of  this  country,  tot- 
tering in  their  walk,  and  holding  each  other  by  the 
hands  and  under  the  arms,  as  we  represent  the  con- 
stellation of  the  Twins.  At  night  these  infants  often 
lefiised  to  be  separated,  and  were  found  lying  in  the 
same  cradle,  thc-ir  cheeks,  their  bosoms  pressed  close 
together,  their  hands  thrown  round  each  other's  neck, 
and   sleeping,  locked  in  one  another's  arms. 

When  they  began  to  speak,  the  first  names  they 
learnt  to  give  each  other  were  those  of  brother  and 
sister,    and    childhood    knows    no    softer    appellation. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  23 

Their  ediicatioH  served  to  augment  their  early  friend- 
ship, by  directing  it  to  tlie  supply  of  their  reciprocal 
wants.  In  a  short  time,  all  that  regarded  the  house- 
hold economy,  the  care  of  preparing  their  rural  re- 
pasts, became  the  task  of  Mrginia,  whose  labors 
were  always  crowned  witii  tlie  praises  and  kisses  of 
her  brotlicr.  As  for  Paul,  always  in  motion,  he  dug 
the  garden  with  Domingo,  or  followed  him  with  a 
little  iiatchet  into  the  woods,  where,  if  he  espied  a 
beautiful  flower,  fine  fruit,  or  a  nest  of  birds,  even  at 
the  top  of  a  tree,  he  climbed  up  and  brougiit  it  liome 
to  his  sister. 

When  you  met  with  one  of  those  children,  yoa 
might  be  sure  the  other  was  not  distant.  One  day, 
coming  down  that  mountain,  I  saw  Virginia  at  the 
end  of  the  garden,  running  toTsards  the  house,  with 
her  petticoat  thrown  over  her  head,  in  order  to 
screen  herself  from  a  shower  of  rain.  At  a  distance  I 
thought  she  was  alone  ;  but  as  I  hastened  toward  her, 
in  order  to  help  her  on,  I  perceived  that  she  held 
I'aul  by  the  arm,  uho  was  almost  entirely  enveloped 
in  the  saaie  canopy,  and  both  were  laughing  heartily 
at  being  sheltered  together  under  an  umbrella  of  their 
own  invention.  Tiiose  two  cliarming  faces,  placed 
within  the  petticoat,  swelled  by  the  wind,  recalled  to 
my  mind  the  children  of  Leda,  enclosed  witliin  th« 
»j»me  shell. 


24  TALL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Their  sole  study  was  how  to  please  and  assist  eacli 
oil  •;  for  of  all  other  things  they  were  ignorant,  and 
kr'cw  neitiu'T  how  to  read  or  write.  They  were  never 
disturbed  by  researches  into  past  times,  nor  did  their 
curiosity  extend  beyond  tlie  bounds  of  that  mountain. 
They  believed  the  world  ended  at  tiie  shores  of  their  own 
island,  and  all  their  ideas  and  affections  were  confined 
within  its  limits.  Their  mutual  tenderness  and  that  of 
their  mothers,  employed  all  the  activity  of  their  souls. 
Their  tears  had  never  been  called  foith  by  long  applica- 
tion to  useless  sciences.  Their  minds  had  never  been 
wearied  by  lessons  of  morality,  superfluous  to  bosoms 
iniconscious  of  ill.  They  had  never  been  taught  that 
tliey  must  not  steal,  because  every  thing  with  them 
•was  in  common  ;  or  be  intemperate,  because  their 
simple  food  was  left  to  their  own  discretion  ;  or  false, 
because  they  had  no  truth  to  conceal.  Tljeir  young 
imaginations  had  never  been  terrified  by  the  idea  that 
Cod   has  punishments  in  for  ungrateful  children, 

since  with  them  filial  ah'  ,n  arose  naturally  from 
maternal  fondness.  All  they  had  been  taught  of  re- 
ligion was  to  love  it:  and  if  they  did  not  offer  up 
long  prayers  in  the  church,  wherever  they  were,  in 
the  house,  in  the  fields,  in  the  woods,  they  raised  to- 
wards heaven  their  innocent  hands,  and  their  hearts- ' 
purified  by  virtuous  affections. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  25 

Thus  passed  their  early  childhood,  like  a  b.  ^i- 
ful  dawn,  the  prelude  of  a  bright  day.  Already  ùjey 
partook,  with  their  mothers,  the  cares  of  the  house- 
hold. As  soon  as  the  cry  of  the  wakeful  cock  an- 
nounced the  first  beam  of  the  morning  Virginia  arose, 
and  hastened  to  draw  water  from  a  neighboring  spring  ; 
then  returning  to  the  house,  she  prepared  the  break- 
fast. When  tlie  rising  suh  lighted  up  the  points  of  those 
rocks  which  overhang  this  inclosure,  Margaret  and 
her  child  went  to  the  dwelling  of  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  and  they  offered  up  together  their  morning 
prayer.  This  sacrifice  of  thanksgiving  always  preced- 
ed their  first  repast,  which  they  often  partook  before 
the  door  of  the  cottage,  seated  upon  the  grass  under 
a  canopy  of  plantain  ;  and  while  the  branches  of  that 
delightful  tree  afforded  a  grateful  shade,  its  solid  fruit 
furnished  food  ready  prepared  by  nature  ;  and  its  long 
glossy  leaves,  spread  upor  the  table,  supplied  the 
want  of  linen. 

Plentiful  and  wholesome  nourishment  gave  early 
growth  and  vigor  to  the  persons  of  liiose  ciiildren,  and 
their  countenances  expressed  the  purity  and  the  peace  of 
their  souls.  At  twelve  years  of  age  the  figure  of  Virginia 
was  in  some  degree  formed  :  a  profusion  of  light  hair 
shaded  her  face,  to  which  her  blue  eyes  and  coral  lips 
gave  the  most  charming  brilliancy.  Her  eyes  spark- 
led with  vivacity  when  she  spoke  ;  but  when  she  was 
C 


26  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

silent,  her  look  had  a  cast  upwards,  wliich  ga^'e  it  an 
expression  of  extreme  sensibility,  or  rather  of  tender 
melancholy.  Already  the  figure  of  Paul  displayed  the 
graces  of  manly  beauty.  He  was  taller  than  Virginia; 
his  skin  was  of  a  darker  tint,  his  nose  more  aquiline: 
and  his  black  eyes  would  have  been  too  piercing,  if 
the  long  eye-lashes,  by  which  they  were  shaded,  had 
not  given  them  a  look  of  softness.  He  was  constantly 
in  motion,  except  when  his  sister  appeared,  and  then, 
placed  at  her  side,  he  became  quiet.  Their  meals 
often  passed  in  silence  ;  and,  from  the  grace  of  their 
attitudes,  the  beautiful  proportions  of  their  figures, 
and  their  naked  feet,  you  might  have  fancied  you  be- 
held  an  antique  group  of  white  marble,  representing 
some  of  the  children  of  Niobe  ;  if  those  eyes  which 
sought  to  meet  those  smiles  which  were  answered  by 
smiles  of  the  most  tender  softness  had  not  rather  given 
you  the  idea  of  those  happy  celestial  spirits,  whose 
nature  is  love,  and  who  are  not  obliged  to  have  re- 
course to  words  for  the  expression  of  that  intuitive 
sentiment.  In  the  mean  time,  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
perceiving  every  day  some  unfolding  grace,  some  new 
beauty,  in  her  daughter,  felt  her  maternal  anxiety  in- 
crease with  her  tenderness.  She  often  said  to  me,  "  If 
I  should  die,  what  will  become  of  Virginia  without 
fortune  ?" 

Madame   de  la  Tour   had  an  aunt   in  France, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  37 

wlio  was  a  woman  of  quality,  ricli,  old,  and  a  great 
bigot.  She  had  behaved  towards  her  niece  with  so 
much  cruelty  upon  her  marriage,  that  Madame  Je  la 
Tour  had  <Ietermined  that  no  distress  or  misfortune 
should  ever  compel  her  to  have  recourse  to  her  hard- 
hearted relation.  But  when  she  became  a  mother,  the 
pride  of  resentment  was  stifled  in  the  stronger  feelings 
of  maternal  tenderness.  She  wrote  to  her  aunt,  inform- 
ing her  of  the  sudden  death  of  lier  husband,  the  birth 
of  lier  daughter,  and  the  difficulties  in  which  she  was 
involved  at  a  distance  from  her  own  country,  without 
support,  and  burthened  with  a  child.  She  received 
no  answer  ;  but,  notwithstanding  that  high  spirit  which 
was  natural  to  her  character,  she  no  longer  feared  expos- 
ing herself  to  morlification  and  reproach  ;  and,  although 
she  knew  her  relation  would  never  pardon  her  having 
married  a  man  of  merit,  but  not  of  noble  birth,  she 
continued  to  write  to  her  by  every  opportunity,  in  the 
hope  of  awakening  her  compassion  for  \'irginia.  Many 
years,  however,  passed,  during  which  she  received 
not  (he  smallest  testimony  of  her  remembrance. 

At  length,  in  1733,  three  years  after  the  arrival 
of  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  in  this  island,  Madame 
de  la  Tour  was  informed  that  the  governor  bad  a  letter 
to  give  her  from  her  aunt.  She  fitw  to  Port  Louis, 
careless  on  this  occasion  of  appearing  in  her  homely 
garment.     Maternal   hope  and  joy    subdued   all  those 


28  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

little  considerations  whicii  are  lost  when  the  mind  is 
absorbed  by  any  powerful  sentiment.  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais  delivered  to  her  a  letter  from  her  aunt, 
who  informed  her,  that  she  deserved  her  fate  for  hav- 
ing married  an  adventurer  and  a  libertine  :  that  misplac- 
ed passions  brought  along  with  them  their  own  punish- 
ment, and  that  the  sudden  death  of  her  husband  must 
be  considered  as  a  visitation  from  heaven  :  tliat  she 
had  done  well  in  going  to  a  distant  island,  rather 
than  dishonor  her  family  by  remaining  in  France  ; 
and  that,  after  all,  in  the  colony  where  she  had  taken 
refuge,  every  person  grew  rich  except  the  idle.  Hav- 
ing thus  lavished  sufficient  censure  upon  the  conduct  of 
her  niece,  she  finished  by  an  «uldgium  on  herself.  To 
avoid,  she  said,  the  almost  inevitable  evils  of  marriage, 
she  had  determined  to  remain  in  a  single  state.  In 
truth,  being  of  a  very  ambitious  temper,  she  had  re- 
solved only  to  unite  herself  to  a  man  of  high  rank  ; 
and  although  she  was  very  rich,  her  fortune  was  not 
found  a  sufficient  bribe,  even  at  court,  to  counterba- 
lance the  malignant  dispositions  of  her  mind,  and  tlis 
disagreeable  qualities  of  her  person. 

She  added,  in  a  postscript,  that,  after  mature  de- 
liberation, slie  had  strongly  recommended  her  niece  to 
Ivlonsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais.  This  she  had  indeed 
done,  but  in  a  manner  of  late  too  common,  and  which 
renders  a  patron  perhaps  even  more  formidable  than 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  gg 

a  declared  enemy  ;  for,  in  order  to  justify  herself, 
she  had  cruelly  slandered  her  niece,  while  she  aflfect- 
ed  to  pity  her  misfortunes. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  whom  no  unprejudiced 
person  could  have  seen  without  feeling  sympathy  and 
respect,  was  received  with  the  utmost  coohiess  by 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais;  and  when  she  painted 
to  him  her  own  situation,  and  that  of  her  child,  he 
replied  with  indifference,  "  We  will  see  what  can  be 
done..., There  are  so  many  to  relieve.. ..Why  did  you 
affront  so  respectable  a  relation  ?....You  have  been 
much  to  blame.'' 

Madame  de  la  Tour  returned  to  her  cottage, 
her  bosom  throbbing  with  all  the  bitterness  of  disap- 
pointment. When  she  arrived,  she  threw  herself  on  a 
chair,  and  tlien  flinging  her  aunt's  letter  on  the  table, 
exclaimed  to  her  friend,  "  This  is  the  recompence  of 
eleven  years  of  patient  expectation  !"  As  Madarne  de 
la  Tour  was  the  only  person  in  the  little  circle  who 
could  read,  she  again  took  up  the  letter,  which  sh« 
read  aloud.  Scarcely  had  she  finished,  when  Mar- 
garet exclaimed,  *'  What  have  we  to  do  with  your  re- 
lations ?  Has  God  then  forsaken  us .'  He  only  is  our 
father.  Have  we  not  hitherto  been  happy .'  Why 
then  this  regret  ?  You  have  no  courage."  Seeing 
Madame  de  la  Tour  in  tears,  she  threw  herself  upon 

c2 


so  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

lier  neck,  and  pressing  her  in  her  arms,  "  My  dear 
friend  !"  cried  she,  "  My  dear  friend  !"  But  her  emo- 
tion choaked  her  utterance. 

At  this  sight  Virginia  burst  into  tears,  and  pres- 
sed her  mother's  hand  and  Margaret's  alternately,  to 
her  lips,  and  to  her  heait;  while  Paul,  with  his  eyes 
inflamed  with  anger,  cried,  clasped  his  hands  toge- 
ther, and  stamped  with  his  feet,  not  knowing  whom 
to  blame  for  this  scene  of  misery.  The  noise  soon 
led  Domingo  and  Mary  to  the  spot,  and  the  little 
habitation  resounded  with  the  cries  of  distress.  "  Ah, 
Madame!.. ..My  good  mistress  !....  My  dear  mother!.... 
Do  not  weep  !...." 

Those  tender  proofs  of  affection  at  length  dis- 
pelled Madame  de  la  Tour's  sorrow.  She  took  Paul 
and  Virginia  in  her  arms,  and,  embracing  them, 
cried,  "  You  are  the  cause  of  my  affliction,  and  yet 
my  only  source  of  delight  !  Yes,  my  dear  children, 
misfortune  has  reached  me  from  a  distance,  but  sure- 
ly I  am  surrounded  by  happiness,"  Paul  and  V  irginia 
did  not  understand  this  reflection  ;  but,  when  they  saw 
that  she  was  calm,  they  smiled,  and  continued  to  ca- 
ress her.  Thus  tranquillity  was  restored,  and  what 
had  passed  proved  but  a  transient  storm,  which  serves 
to  give  fresh  verdure  to  a  beautiful  spring. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


31 


Although  Madame  de  la  Tour  appeared  calm 
in  the  presence  of  her  family,  she  sometimes  com- 
municated to  me  the  feelings  that  preyed  upon  her 
mind,  and  soon  after  tkis  period  gave  me  the  follow- 
ing sonnet. 


N« 


32  I'AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


SONNET 

TO  DISAPPOINTMENT. 


Pale  Disappointment  !  at  thy  freezing  name 

Cliill  fears  in  ev'ry  shiv'ring  vein   I  prove  ; 

My  sinking  pulse  almost  forgets  to  move, 

And  life  almost  forsakes  my  languid   frame  : 

Yet  thee,  relentless  nymph  !    no  tnore  I  blame: 

Why  do   my  thoughts  'midst  vain  illusions  rove? 

Why  gild  the  charms   of  friendship  and  of  love 

With  the  warm  glow  of  fancy's  purple  flame  ? 

Wnien  ruffling  winds  have  some  bright  fane  o'ertlirown. 

Which  shone  on  painted  clouds,   or  seem'd  to  shine. 

Shall  the  fond  gazer  dream  for  him  alone 

Those  clouds  were  stable,  and  at  fate  repine? 

I  feel,    alas!    the  fault  is  all  my  own, 

And,    ah  !    the  cruel  punishment  is  mine  ! 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  S3 

The  amiable  disposition  of  tliose  children  unfolded 
itself  daily.  On  a  Sunday,  their  mothers  having  gone 
at  break  of  day  to  mass,  at  the  church  of  the  Shad- 
dock GroTC,  the  children  perceived  a  negro  woman 
beneath  the  plantains  which  shaded  their  habitation. 
She  appeared  almost  wasted  to  a  skeleton,  and  had 
no  other  garment  than  a  shred  of  coarse  cloth  thrown 
across  her  loins.  She  flung  herself  at  Virginia's  feet. 
Who  was  preparing  the  family  breakfast,  and  cried, 
"  My  good  yoang  lady,  have  pity  on  a  poor  slave. 
For  a  whole  month  I  have  wandered  amongst  these 
mountains,  half  dead  with  hunger,  and  often  pursued 
by  the  hunters  and  their  dogs.  I  fled  from  my  mas- 
ter, a  rich  plaoter  of^  the  Black  River,  who  has  used 
me  as  you  see  ;"  and  she  siiewed  her  body  marked  by 
deep  scars  from  the  lashes  she  had  received.  She 
added,  "I  was  gomg  to  drown  myself;  but  hearing 
you  lived  here,  I  said  to  myself,  since  there  are  still 
some  good  white  people  in  this  country,  I  need  not 
die  yet." 

Virginia  answered  with  emotion,  "Take  cou- 
rage, unfortunate  creature!  here  is  food,"  and  she  gave 
her  the  breakfast  she  had  prepared  ;  which  the  poor  slave 
in  a  few  minutes  devoured.  When  her  hunger  was  ap- 
peased, Virginia  said  to  her,  "  Unhappy  woman  !  will 
you  let  me  go  and  ask  forgiveness  for  jou  of  your  master? 
Surely  the  sight  of  you  will  touch  him  with  pity.. ..Will 


34  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

you  shew  me  the  way  ?"...."  Angel  of  heaven  !"  answered 
the  poor  negro  woman,  "  I  will  follow  you  where  you 
please."  Virginia  called  her  brother,  and  begged  him  to 
accompany  her.  The  slave  led  the  way,  by  winding 
and  difficult  paths,  through  the  woods,  over  moun- 
tains which  they  climbed  with  difficulty,  and  across  ri- 
vers, through  which  tliey  were  obliged  to  wade.  At 
length  they  readied  the  foot  of  a  precipice  upon  the  bor- 
ders of  the  Black  River.  There  they  perceived  a  well- 
built  house,  surrounded  by  extensive  plantations,  and  a 
great  number  of  slaves  employed  at  liieir  various  labors. 
Their  master  was  walking  amongst  them  with  a  pipe  in 
his  mouth,  and  a  switch  in  his  hand.  He  was  a  tall  thin 
figure,  of  a  brown  complexion  ;  his  eyes  were  sunk  in 
his  head,  and  his  dark  eye-brows  were  joined  together. 
Virginia,  holding  Paul  by  the  hand,  drew  near^  and 
with  much  emotion  begged  him,  for  the  love  af  G(id,  to 
pardon  his  poor  slave,  who  stood  trembling  a  few  paces 
behind.  The  man  at  first  paid  little  attention  to  the 
children,  whom  he  saw  were  meanly  dressed.  But  when 
he  observed  the  elegance  of  Mrginia's  form,  and  the  pro- 
fusion of  her  beautiful  light  tresses,  which  had  escaped 
from  beneath  her  blue  cap  ;  when  he  heard  the  soft  tone 
of  her  voice,  which  trembled,  as  well  as  her  own  frame, 
ivhile  she  implored  his  compassion  ;  he  took  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  and,  lifting  up  his  stick,  swore,  with  a 
terrible  oath,  that  he  pardoned  his  slave,  not  for  tiie 
love  of  Heaven,  but  of  her  who  asked  his  forgiveness. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  35 

Virginia  made  a  sign  to  the  slave  to  approach  hcr  master, 
and  instantly  sprung  away,  followed  by  Paul. 

They  climbed  up  the  precipice  they  had  descend- 
ed ;  and,  ha\  ing  gained  the  summit,  seated  themselves 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  overcome  with  fatigue,  hunger,  and 
thirst.  Tliey  liad  left  their  cottage  fasting,  and  had 
walked  five  leagues  since  break  of  day.  Paul  said  to 
Virginia,  "  My  dear  sister,  it  is  past  noon,  and  I  am  sure 
you  arc  thirsty  and  hungry  :  we  shall  find  no  dinner 
here  ;  let  us  go  down  the  mountain  again,  and  ask  the 
master  of  the  poor  slave  for  some  food."  "  Oli,  no,"  an- 
swered Virginia;  "he  frightens  me  too  much.  Remem- 
ber what  mamma  sometimes  says,  *  the  bread  of  the 
wicked  is  like  stones  in  the  mouth.'  "  What  shall  we 
*lo  then  ?"  said  Paul  :  "  These  trees  produce  no  fruit  ; 
and  I  sliall  not  be  able  to  find  even  a  tamarind  or  a 
lemon  to  refresh  you."  Scarcely  had  he  pronounced 
these  words,  wtien  they  heard  the  dashing  of  waters 
which  fell  from  a  neighboring  rock.  They  ran  thi- 
ther, and,  having  quenched  their  thirst  at  this  crystal 
spring,  they  gathered  a  few  cresses  which  grew  en  the 
border  of  the  stream.  Wiiile  they  were  wandering  in 
the  woods  in  searcli  of  more  ;?olid  nourishment,  Virginia 
sjjied  a  young  palm-tree.  The  kind  of  cabbage  which 
is  found  at  the  top  of  this  tree,  enfolded  within  its 
leaves,  forms  an  excellent  sustenance  ;  but,  althougli 
the  stalk    of  the  tree  was  not   thicker  than  a   man's 


36  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

leg,  it  was  above  sixty  feet  in  height.  The  wood  of 
this  tree  is  composed  of  fine  filaments  ;  but  the  bark 
is  so  liard  that  it  turns  the  edge  of  the  hatchet  ;  and 
Paul  was  not  even  furnished  with  a  knife.  At  length 
he  thought  of  setting  fire  to  the  palm-tree  ;  bnt  a  new 
difficulty  occurred  ;  he  had  no  steel  with  which  to 
strike  fire  ;  and,  although  the  whole  island  is  covered 
with  rocks,  I  do  not  believe  it  is  possible  to  find  a 
flint.  Necessity,  however,  is  fertile  in  expedients,  and 
the  most  useful  inventions  have  arisen  from  men  plac- 
ed in  the  most  destitute  situations.  Paul  determined 
to  kindle  a  fire  in  the  manner  of  the  negroes.  With 
the  sharp  end  of  a  stone  he  made  a  small  hole  in  the 
branch  of  a  tree  that  was  quite  dry,  which  he  held 
between  his  feet  :  he  then  sharpened  another  dry 
brandi  of  a  different  sort  of  wood,  and  afterwards 
placing  the  piece  of  pointed  wood  in  the  small  hole  of 
the  branch  which  he  held  with  his  feet,  and  turning  it 
rapidly  between  his  hands,  in  a  few  minutes  smoke 
and  sparks  of  fire  issued  from  the  points  of  contact. 
Paul  then  heaped  together  dried  grass  and  brandies, 
and  set  fire  to  the  palm-tree,  which  soon  fell  to  the 
ground.  The  fire  was  useful  to  him  in  stripping  off 
the  long,  thick,  and  pointed  leaves,  within  which  the 
cabbage  was  enclosed. 

Paul  and  Virginia  ate  part  of  the  cabbage  raw, 
and  part   dressed   upon  tlie  ashes,  which  they  found 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  37 

equally  palatable.  They  made  this  frugal  repast  with 
dcligiit,  from  tiie  remembrance  of  the  benevolent  ac- 
(ion  they  jiacl  performed  in  the  morning:  yet  their 
joy  was  embittered  by  tlie  thougiits  of  that  uneasiness 
which  their  long  absence  would  give  their  mothers. 
Virginia  often  recurred  to  tliis  subject  ;  but  Paul,  who 
felt  his  strengtli  ronovrd  by  their  meal,  assured  her 
tliat  it  would  not  Ije  long  before  they  reached  home. 

After  dinner  tliey  recollected  tlat  they  had  no 
guide,  and  that  they  were  ignorant  of  the  way.  Paul, 
whose  spirit  was  not  subdued  ht  ditïïculties,  said  to 
Virginia,  "  Tlie  sun  sliincs  full  upon  our  huts  at  noon» 
we  must  pass,  as  we  did  this  morning,  over  that  moun- 
tain with  its  thr<,'e  points,  which  you  see  yonder. 
Come,  let  us  go."  ^his  mountain  is  called  the  Three 
1'eak.s.  Paul  ar.d  \irginia  desicnded  the  precipice  of 
the  Black  River,  on  the  northern  side;  and  arrived, 
after  aR  hour's  walk,  on  tiie  banks  of  a  large  stream. 

Great  part  of  this  island  is  so  little  known,  even 
now,  that  many  of  its  rivci-s  and  mountains  have  not 
yet  received  a  name.  The  river,  on  the  banks  of 
which  our  travellers  stood,  rolls  foaming  over  a  bed 
of  rocks.  The  noise  of  the  water  frightened  Virginia, 
and  she  durst  not  v.ade  through  the  stream  :  Paul 
therefore  took  lier  up  in  his  arms,  and  went  thus 
loaded  over  the  .-li;>pory  rocks,  which  for.nied  the  bed 
D 


38  PAUL  AND  VIUGINIA. 

of  tlic  river,  careless  of  the  tumultuous  noise  of  its 
waters.  "  Do  not  be  afraid/'  cried  lie  to  Virginia  ; 
"  I  feel  very  strong  -with  you.  If  the  inhabitant  of 
the  Black  River  had  refused  you  the  pardon  of  his 
slave,  I  would  have  fought  with  liim."  "  What  !" 
answered  Virginia,  "with  that  great  wicked  man?.... 
To  what  have  I  exposed  you,  gracious  heaven  !  How 
difficult  it  is  to  do  goodV  and  it  is  so  easy  to  do 
wrong." 

When  Paul  had  crossed  the  river,  he  wished  to 
continue  his  journey  carrying  his  sister,  and  believed 
he  was  able  to  climb  in  tliat  way  the  mountain  of  the 
Three  Peaks,  which  was  still  at  the  distance  of  half 
a  league  ;  but  his  strength  soon  failed,  and  he  was 
sson  obliged  to  set  down  his  burdej^  and  to  rest  him- 
self by  lier  side.  Virgihia  then  said  to  him,  "  My 
ilear  brother,  the  sun  is  going  down  ;  you  have  still 
some  strength  left,  but  mine  has  quite  failed  :  do  leave 
me  here,  and  return  home  alone  to  ease  the  fears  of 
our  mothers."  "  Oh,  no,"  said  Paul,  "  I  will  not  leave 
you.  If  night  surprizes  us  in  this  wood,  I  will  light 
a  fire,  and  bring  down  another  palm-tree:  you  shall 
eat  the  cabbage  ;  and  I  will  form  a  covering  of  the 
leaves  to  shelter  you."  In  the  mean  time,  Virginia  be- 
ing a  little  rested,  pulled  from  the  trunk  of  an  old 
tree,  which  hung  over  the  bank  of  the  river,  some 
long  leaves  of  hart's  tongue,  which  grew  near  its  root, 


PAUL    AND  VIRGINIA.  39 

With  those  leaves  slie  made  a  sort  of  buskin,  with 
which  she  covered  her  feet,  that  were  bleeding  from 
the  sharpness  of  the  stony  paths  ;  lor  in  her  eager 
desire  to  do  good,  she  had  forgot  to  put  on  her  slioes. 
Feeling  Jier  feet  cooled  by  the  freshness  of  the  leaves, 
she  broke  ollT  a  branch  of  bamboo,  ap.d  contin\i;"d  her 
walk,  leaning  with  one  hand  on  the  staff,  and  with 
the  other  on  Paul. 

The  Y  walked  on  slowly  through  the  wood^  ;  but 
from  the  height  of  the  trees,  and  the  thickness  of  their  fo- 
liage, they  soon  lost  sight  of  the  mountain  of  the 
Three  Peaks,  by  which  they  had  directed  their  course, 
and  even  of  the  sun,  which  was  now  setting.  At 
length  they  wandered,  without  perceiving  it,  from  the 
beaten  path  in  which  fhey  had  hitherto  walked,  and 
found  themselves  in  a  labyrinth  of  trees  and  rocks, 
which  appeared  to  have  nh  opening.  Paul  made  Mr- 
ginia  sit  down,  while  he  ran  backwards  and  forwards, 
half  frantic-,  in  «earch  of  a  path  which  might  lead 
them  out  of  this  tliick  wood  ;  but  all  his  researches 
were  vain.  He  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  trees  from 
whence  he  hoped  at  least  to  discern  the  mountain  of 
tlic  T!nee  Peaks;  but  all  he  could  perceive  around 
liim  were  llie  tops  of  trees,  some  of  which  were  gilded 
by  the  last  beams  of  the  setting  sun.  Already  tlic 
shadows  of  the  mountains  were  spread  over  the  forests 
in  the  vailles.     The    wind    ceased,  as  it  usually  docs 


40  TALL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

at  t];e  evening  hour.  The  most  profuund  silence 
reigned  in  thuse  awful  solitudes,  which  was  only  inter- 
rupted by  the  cry  of  the  stags,  who  came  to  repose 
ill  that  unfrequented  spot.  Paul,  in  the  hope  that 
■suiiiç  hunter  would  hear  his  voice,  called  out  as  loud 
as  lie  was  able,  "  Come,  come  to  the  help  of  \'ir- 
ginia."  But  the  echoes  of  the  forests  alone  answered 
his  call,  and  repeated  again  and  again,  "  Virginia.... 
Virginia^'  Paul  at  length  descended  from  the  tree, 
©vercome  with  fatigue  and  \exation,  and  reflected 
how  tliey  might  best  contrive  to  pass  the  night 
in  that  desart.  But  he  could  find  neither  a  fountain, 
a  palm-tree,  nor  even  a  branch  of  dry  wood  to  kindle 
a  fire.  He  then  felt,  by  experience,  the  sense  of  liis 
o,\n  weakness,  and  began  to  weep.  Virginia  said  to 
lii;n,  "  Do  not  weep,  my  dear  brother,  or  I  shall  die 
^ith  grief.  I  am  the  cause  of  all  your  sorrow,  and 
of  all  that  our  mot'aers  suiTer  at  this  moment.  I  find 
■Re  ought  to  do  nothing,  not  even  good,  witliout  con- 
sulting our  parents.  Oh,  I  have  been  very  imprudent!'' 
»nd  slie  began  to  shed  tears.  She  then  said  to  Paul, 
"  Lei  us  pray  to  God^  my  dear  brother,  and  he  will 
liear  us." 

Scarcely  had  they  fini^hed  their  prayer,  when 
they  heard  tiie  barking  of  a  dog.  "  It  is  tiie  dog  of 
some  hunter,  said  Paul,  w  ho  comes  here  at  night  to  lay 
iin  ^Yait  for  the  stags."    Soon  after  again  the  dotibark- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  42 

«d  with  more  violence.  *'  Surely,"  said  Virginia,  "  it 
is  Fidèle,  our  own  dog  :  yes,  I  know  his  voice.  Are 
■we  then  so  near  home  ?  at  the  foot  of  our  own  moun- 
tain ?"  A  moment  after  Fidcle  was  at  their  feet,  barking, 
howling,  crying,  and  devouring  them  with  his  caresses. 
Before  they  had  recovered  -their  surprise,  they  saw 
Domingo  running  towards  them.  At  the  sight  of  this 
good  old  negro,  who  wept  with  joy,  they  began  to 
•weep  too,  without  being  able  to  utter  one  word.  When 
Domingo  had  recovered  himself  a  little,  "  Oh,  my 
dear  children,"  cried  he,  "  how  miserable  have  you 
made  your  mothers  !  How  much  were  they  astonished 
when  they  returned  from  mass,  where  I  went  with 
them,  at  not  finding  you  !  Mary,  who  was  at  work  at 
a  little  distance,  could  not  tell  iis  where  you  were 
gone.  I  run  backwards  and  forwards  about  the  plan- 
tation, not  knowiag  where  to  look  for  you.  At  last  I 
took  some  of  your  old  clotiies,  and  shewing  them 
to  Fidèle,  the  poor  animal,  as  if  he  understood  me,  im- 
mediately began  to  scent  your  path  ;  and  conducted 
me,  continually  wagging  his  tail,  to  the  Black  River. 
It  was  there  a  planter  told  me  that  you  had  brought 
back  a  negro  woman,  his  slave,  and  that  he  had  grant- 
ed you  her  pardon.  But  what  pardon  !  he  shewed  her  to 
me  with  her  feet  chained  to  a  block  of  wood,  and  an 
iron  collar  with  three  hooks  fastened  round  her  neck  ! 

**  From    thence  Fidèle,   still  on  the  scent,   led 

d2 


42  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

me  up  the  precipice  of  the  Black  River,  ^herejie 
again  stopped  and  barked  with  all  his  might.  This  was 
on  the  brink  of  a  spring,  near  a  fallen  palm-tree,  and 
close  to  a  fire  wiiich  was  still  smoking.  At  last  he 
kd  me  to  this  very  spot.  We  are  at  the  foot  of  the 
injiintain  of  the  Three  Peaks,  and  still  four  leagues 
£iom  home.  Come,  eat,  and  gather  strength."  He 
then  presented  them  with  cakes,  fruits,  and  a  large 
gourd  filled  wilii  a  Tuiuor  composed  of  wiTie,  water, 
lemon-juice,  sugar,  and  nutmeg,  which  their  mothers 
had  prepared.  Virginia  sighed  at  the  recollection  of 
tiie  poor  slave,  and  at  the  uneasiness  wliich  they  had 
given  their  mothers.  She  repeated  -several  limes, 
"  Oil,  how  dillicult  it  is  to  do  good  !" 

M'hile  slie  and  Paul  were  taking  refreshment, 
-Domingo  kindled  a  fire,  and  having  sought  among  the 
rocks  for  a  particular  kind  of  crooked  wood,  which 
burns  quite  green,  throwing  out  a  great  blaze,  he 
anade  a  torch,  which  he  lighted,  it  being  already  night. 
But  when  they  prepared  to  continue  their  journey,  a 
•jiew  difliculty  occurred  :  Paul  and  Virginia  could  no 
'longer  walk,  their  feet  being  violently  swelled  and 
inflamed.  Domingo  knew  rot  whether  it  were  best 
to  leave  them,  and  go  in  search  of  help,  or  remain  and 
pass  the  night  with  them  on  that  spot.  "  What  is  be- 
eome  of  the  time,"  said  he,  "  when  I  used  to  carry 
3<ou    both  together  in  my  arms  ?    But   now  you  are 


?AUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  43 

grown  big,  and  I  am  grown  old."  Wliile  he  was  in 
this  perpltfxity,  a  troop  of  Maron  negroes  appeared  at 
the  distance  of  twenty  paces.  The  chief  of  the  band, 
approaching  Paul  and  Virginia,  said  to  them,  "  Good 
little  wiiite  people,  do  not  be  afraid.  \^'e  saw  you 
pass  this  morning  with  a  negro  woman  of  the  Black 
Hiver.  You  went  to  a>k  pardon  for  her  of  her  wick- 
ed master,  and  we  in  return  for  this  will  carry  you  home 
upon  our  shoulders."  Hetlu-n  made  a  sign,  and  four 
of  the  strongest  negroes  immediately  formed  a  sort  of 
litter  with  the  branches  of  trees  and  lianas,  in  wliich 
having  seated  Paul  and  Virginia,  they  placed  it  upon 
their  shoulders.  Domingo  marched  in  front,  carrying, 
his  lighted  torch,  and  they  proceeded  amidst  the  re- 
joicings of  the  whole  troop,  and  overwhelmed  with 
their  benedictions.  Virginia,  affected  by  this  scene, 
said  to  Paul  with  emotion,  "  Oh,  my  dear  brother  ! 
God  never  leaves  a   good  action  without  reward." 

It  was  midnight  when  they  arrived  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain,  on  the  ridges  of  which  several  fires  were 
lighted.  Scarcely  had  they  begun  to  ascend,  when 
they  heard  voices  crying  out  "  Is  it  you,  my  cliil- 
dren?"  They  answered  together  with  the  negroes, 
"  Yes,  it  is  us  ;"  and  soon  after  perceived  their  mo- 
tliers  and  Mary  coming  towards  them  with  lighted 
slicks  in  their  hands.  "  Unhappy  children  !"  cried 
Madame  de  la  Tour,   "  from  whence  do  you  come  i 


44  Î*AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

What  agonies  you  have  made  us  suffer  i"  "  We  come,** 
said  Virginia,  "  from  the  Black  River,  where  we  went 
to  ask  pardon  for  a  poor  Maron  slave,  to  whom  I 
gave  our  breakfast  this  morning,  because  she  was  dy- 
ing of  hunger  ;  and  these  Maron  negroes  have  brought 
^  us  home."  Madame  de  la  Tour  embraced  her  daughter 
without  being  able  to  speak;  and  Virginia,  who  felt 
lier  face  wet,  with  her  mother's  tears,  exclaimed, 
"  You  repay  me  for  all  the  hardsiiips  I  have  suffered." 
Margaret,  in  a  transport  of  delight,  pressed  Paul  in  her 
arms,  crying,  "  And  you  also,  my  dear  child  ;  you 
Iiave  done  a  good  action."  When  they  reached  the 
hut  with  their  children,  they  gave  plenty  of  food  to 
the  negroes,  who  returned  to  their  woods,  after  pray- 
ing the  blessing  of  heaven  might  descend  on  those 
good  white  people. 

Every  day  was  to  those  families  a  day  of  tran- 
quillity and  of  happiness.  Neither  ambition  nor  envy  dis- 
turbed their  repose.  In  this  island,  where,  as  in  all 
the  European  colonies,  every  malignant  anecdote  is 
circulated  with  avidity,  their  virtues,  and  even  theif 
names,  were  unknown.  Only  when  a  traveller  on  the 
road  of  the  Shaddock  Grove  inquired  of  any  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  plain,  "  Who  lives  in  those  two 
cottages  above  ?"  he  was  always  answered,  even  by 
those  who  did  not  know  them,  "  They  are  good  peo- 
ple."   Thus  the  modest  violet,  concealed  beneath  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


45 


thorny  bushes,  s]i(;ds  its  fragrance,  while  itself  remains 
unseen. 

Doing  good  appeared  to  those  amiable  families 
to  be  the  chief  purpose  of  life.  Solitude,  far  from 
having  blunted  their  benevolent  feelings,  or  rendered 
their  dispositions  morose,  had  left  tlieir  hearts  open  to 
every  tender  alfcction.  The  contemplation  of  nature 
filled  tlu'ir  minds  witii  euthusiaslic  delight.  Tlit-y 
adored  the  bounty  of  tiiat  Providence  whicli  had  en- 
abled them  to  spread  abundance  and  beauty  amidst 
those  barren  rocks,  and  to  enjoy  those  pure  and  sim- 
ple pleasures  which  are  ever  grateful  and  ever  new. 
It  was  probably  in  those  dispositions  of  mind  that  Ma- 
«lame  de  la  Tour  composed  the  following  sonnet. 


46  TAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


SONNET 

TO  SIMPLICITY. 


Nymph  of  the  desart  !  on  this  lonely  shore. 

Simplicity,  thy  blessings  still  are  mine. 

And  all  thou  canst  not  give  I  pleas'd  resign, 

For  all  beside  can  soothe  my  soul  no  more. 

I  ask  no  lavish  heaps  to  swell  my  store. 

And  purchase  pleasures  far  remote  from  thine. 

Ye  joys,  for  which  the  race  of  Europe  pine. 

Ah,   not  for  me  your  studied  grandeur  pour  : 

Let  me  where  yon  (all  cliiTs  are  rudely  pil'd. 

Where  tow'rs  tlie  palm  amidst  the  mountaiu  trees. 

Where  pendent  from  the  steep,  with  graces  wild. 

The  blue  liana  floats  upon  the  breeze. 

Still  haunt  those  bold  recesses,  Nature's  child. 

Where  thy  majestic  chaims  my  spirit  seize  I 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


47 


Paul,  at  twelve  years  of  age,  was  stronger  and 
more  intelligent  than  Europeans  are  at  fifteen,  and  !iad 
embellished  the  plantations  which  Domingo  had  only  cul- 
tivated, lie  had  gone  with  him  to  the  neighboring 
woods,  and  rooted  up  young  plants  of  lemon  trees,  oran- 
ges, and  tamarinds,  the  round  heads  of  which  are  of  so 
fresh  a  green,  together  with  date  pahii-trecs,  producing 
fruit  tilled  with  a  sweet  cream,  which  has  tiie  fine  per- 
fume of  the  orange  flower.  Those  trees,  which  were 
already  of  a  considerable  size,  he  planted  round  this 
little  enclosure.  He  bad  also  sown  the  seeds  of  many 
trees  wi;icli  the  second  year  boars  flowers  or  fruit.  The 
agathis,  encircled  nith  long  clusters  of  white  flowers, 
which  hang  ujjon  it  like  the  crystal  pendents  of  a  lustre. 
Tiie  Persian  lilac,  whicii  lifts  high  in  air  its  grey  flax-co- 
lored branches.  The  pappaw-lree,  the  trunk  of  w'.iich, 
without  branches,  forms  a  column  set  round  with  green 
melons,  bearing  on  their  heads  large  leaves  like  those  of 
the  fig-tree. 

The  seeds  and  kernels  of  the  gum-tree,  terminalia, 
nian'goes,  alligalor-pears,  tiie  guava,  the  bread-tree,  and 
tlie  narrow-leaved  eugenia  were  planted  with  profusion  ; 
aiid  the  greater  number  of  tliose  trees  already  afforded 
to  tlieir young  cultivator  botii  shade  and  fruit.  His  indus- 
trious hands  had  dilTused  the  riches  of  nature  even  on  the 
most  barren  parts  of  the  plantation.  Several  kinds  of 
aloes,  the  common  Indian  fig,  adorned  with  yellow  flow- 


48  ^'"^^'^  AND  VIRGINIA. 

ers  spottcil  with  red,  and  llie  tliorny  five-angled  toiuii- 
Ihislle,  grew  upon  Ihe  dark  summits  of  the  rocks,  and 
seemed  to  aim  at  reaching  tlie  long  lianas,  wliich,  load- 
ed with  blue  or  crimson  flowers,  himg  scattered  over 
llie  steepest  part  of  the  mountain.  Those  trees  were  dis- 
posed ill  such  a  maiun-r,  that  you  could  command  tlie 
wiiole  at  one  view.  He  had  placed  in  the  middle  of 
tills  hollow  the  plants  of  the  lowest  growth:  behind 
givw  the  shrubs;  then  trees  of  an  ordinary  height; 
above  which  rose  majestically,  the  venerable  lofty  groves 
which  border  the  circumference.  Thus  fiom  its  centre 
this  extensive  inclosure  appeared  like  a  verdant  amphi- 
theatre spread  wit'.i  fruits  and  flowers,  containing  a  va- 
riety of  vegetables,  a  chain  of  meadow-land,  and  fields 
of  rice  and  corn.  In  bending  those  vegetable  prodLic- 
lions  to  his  own  faste,  he  followed  tlje  designs  of  Na- 
ture. .Guided  by  her  suggestions,  he  had  thrown  upon 
the  rising  ground  such  seeds  as  the  winds  might  scat- 
ter over  the  heights,  and  near  the  borders  of  the  springs 
such  grains  as  float  upon  the  waters.  Every  plant  grew 
in  its  proper  soil,  and  every  spot  seemed  decorated  by 
her  hands.  The  waters,  wiiich  rushed  from  the  sum- 
mits of  the  rocks,  formed  in  some  parts  of  the  valley 
limpid  fountains,  and  in  other  parts  were  spread  into 
large  clear  mirroi-s,  which  reflected  the  bright  verdure, 
(he  trees  in  blossom,  the  bending  rocks,  and  the  azure 
heavens. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  49 

Notwithstanding  the  great  irregularity  of 
{he  ground,  most  of  these  plantations  were  easy  of  ac- 
cess. We  had,  indeed,  all  given  him  our  advice  and 
assistance,  in  order  to  accomplish  this  end.  He  had 
formed  a  path  which  winded  round  the  valley,  and 
of  which  various  ramifications  led  from  the  circum- 
ference to  tjie  centre.  He  had  drawn  some  advantage 
from  tlie  most  rugged  sjjots  ;  and  had  blended  in  har- 
monious variety  smooth  walks  with  the  asperities  of  the 
soil,  and  wild  with  domestic  productions.  With  that 
immense  quantity  of  rolling  stones  which  now  block  up 
those  paths,  and  which  arc  scattered  over  most  of  the 
ground  of  this  island,  he  formed  here  and  there  pyra- 
mids; and  at  their  base  he  laid  earth,  and  planted  the 
roots  of  rose-bushes,  the  Baibadoes  flower-fence,  and 
other  slirubs  wliich  love  to  climb  the  rocks.  In  a  short 
time  those  gloomy  shapeless  pyramids  were  covered  with 
verdure,  or  with  the  glowing  tints  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful llowers.  The  hollow  recesses  of  aged  trees,  which 
bent  over  the  borders  of  the  stream,  formed  vaulted 
caves  impenetrable  to  the  sun,  and  where  you  might 
enjoy  coolness  during  the  heats  of  the  day.  That  path 
led  to  a  clump  of  forest  trees,  in  the  centre  of  which 
grew  a  cultivated  tree,  loaded  with  fruit.  Here  was  a 
field  ripe  with  corn,  there  an  orchard.  From  that  ave- 
nue you  had  a  view  of  the  cottages  ;  from  this,  of  the 
inaccessible  summit  of  the  mountain.  Boneatli  that 
tufted  bower  of  gum  trees,  interwoven  with,  lianas, 
£ 


50  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

no  object  could  be  discerned  even  at  noon  ;  while  the 
point  of  tlie  neighboring  rock,  whicli  projects  from  tlie 
mountain,  commanded  a  view  of  tlie  whole  inclosure, 
and  of  the  distant  ocean,  where  sometimes  we  spied  a 
vessel  coming  from  Europe,  or  returning  thither.  On 
this  rock  the  two  families  assembled  in  the  evening, 
and  enjoyed  in  silence  the  freshness  of  the  air,  the 
fragrance  of  the  flowers,  the  murmurs  of  the  fountains, 
and  the  last  blended  harmonies  of  light  and  shade. 

Nothing  could  be  more  agreeable  than  the 
names  which  were  bestowed  upon  some  of  the  ciiarmiug 
retreats  of  this  labyriuth.  That  rock,  of  which  I  was 
speaking,  and  from  which  my  approach  was  discerned 
at  a  considerable  distance,  was  called  the  discovery  of 
Friendship.  Paul  and  Virginia  amidst  their  sports  had 
planted  a  bamboo  on  that  spot  ;  and  whenever  they 
saw  me  coming,  they  hoisted  a  little  white  handkerchief 
by  way  of  signal  of  my  approach,  as  they  had  seen  a 
flag  hoisted  on  the  neighboring  mountain  at  tiie  siglit 
of  a  vessel  at  sea.  The  idea  struck  me  of  engraving  an 
inscription  upon  the  stalk  of  this  reed.  Whatever  plea- 
sure I  have  felt  during  my  travels  at  the  sight  of  a  statue 
or  monument  of  antiquity,  I  have  felt  still  more  in  read- 
ing a  well-written  inscription.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  a  hu- 
man voice  issued  from  the  stone,  and,  making  itself 
heard  through  the  lapse  of  ages,  addressed  man  in  the 
ifiidat  of  a  desart,  and  told  him,  that  he  is  not  alone  ; 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  51 

that  other  men,  on  that  very  spot,  have  felt,  and 
llioiight,  and  sutTered,  like  himself.  If  the  inscription 
belongs  to  an  ancient  nation,  which  no  longer  exists,  it 
leads  the  soul  through  infinite  space,  and  inspires  the 
feeling  of  its  immortality,  by  shewing  that  a  thought 
has  survived  the  ruins  of  an  empire. 

I  INSCRIBED  then,  on  the  little  mast  of  Paul 
and  Virginia's  flag,  those  lines  of  Horace  : 

Fratrcs  Ilelenx,  lucida  bidera, 

Vcntorumque  regat  pater, 
Obstnctis  aliis,  prxtcr  lapyga. 

"  May  the  brothers  of  Helen,  lucid  stars  like  you, 
and  the  Father  of  the  winds,  guide  you  ;  and  may 
you  only  feel  the  breath  of  the  zephyr." 

I  ENGRAVED  this  line  of  Virgil  upon  the  bark 
of  a  gum-tree,  under  the  shade  of  which  Paul  some- 
times seated  himself  in  order  to  contemplate  the  agitated 
sea. 

Fortunatus  et  iUe  decs  qui  novit  agrestes  ! 

"  Happy,  art  thou,  my  son,   to  know  only  the 
pastoral  divinities." 
% 

And  above  tlie  door  of  Madame  de  la  Tour's  cot- 
tage, where  the  familiçs  used  to  assemble,  I  placcti 
Ihis  line. 


52  TAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

At  secura  quies,  et  nescia  fallere  vita. 

"  Here  is  a  calm  conscience,  and  a  life  ignorant 
of  deceit." 

But  Virginia  did  jiot  approve  of  my  Latin  ;  she 
said  that  what  I  had  placed  at  the  foot  of  her  weather- 
flag  was  too  long  and  too  learned.  "  I  should  have 
liked  better,"  added  she,  "  to  have  seen  inscribed, 
"  Always  agitated,  yet  ever  constant." 

Thb  sensibility  of  those  happy  families  extended 
itself  to  every  thing  around  them.  They  had  given 
names  the  most  tender  to  objects  in  appearance  the  most 
indifferent.  A  border  of  orange,  plantain,  and  bread- 
trees,  planted  round  a  green-sward  where  Virginia  and 
.Paul  somclimes  danced,  was  called  Concord.  An  old 
tree,  beneath  the  shade  of  which  Madame  de  la  Tuut 
and  Margaret  used  to  relate  their  misfortunes,  was  call- 
ed The  tears  zviped  aivay.  They  gave  the  names  of 
Brittany  and  Normandy  to  little  portions  of  ground, 
where  they  had  sown  corn,  strawberries  and  peas.  Do- 
mingo and  Mary,  wishing,  in  imitation  of  their  mis- 
tresses, to  recal  the  places  of  their  birth  in  Africa,  gave 
the  names  of  Angola  and  Foullepointe  to  the  spots 
•where  grew  the  herb  with  which  they  wove  baskets, 
and  where  they  had  planted  a  calbassia-tree.  Thus, 
with  the  productions  of  their  respective  climates,  those 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


55 


exiled  families  cherished  the  dear  illusions  which  bind 
us  to  our  native  country,  and  softened  their  regrets  in  a 
foreign  land.  Alas  !  I  hare  seen,  animated  by  a  thou- 
sand soothing  appellations,  those  trees,  those  fountains, 
those  stones,  which'  are  now  overthrowr»,  which  now, 
like  the  plains  of  Greece,  present  nothing  but  ruins  and 
affecting  remembrances. 

Neither  the  neglect  of  her  European  friends, 
nor  the  delightful  romantic  spot  which  she  inhabited, 
could  banish  from  the  mind  of  Madame  de  la  Tour 
tills  tender  attachment  to  her  native  country.  While 
the  luxurious  fruits  of  this  climate  gratified  the  taste  of 
her  family,  she  delighted  to  rear  those  which  were  more 
grateful,  only  because  they  were  the  production  of  her 
early  home.  Among  other  little  pieces,  addressed  to 
flowers  and  fruits  of  northern  climes,  I  found  the  follow* 
ing  sonnet  to  the  strawberry. 


54  ^AUL  AND  VIRGLNIA. 


SONNET 

TO  THE    STRAWBERRY. 

The  strawberry  blooms  upon  its  lowly  bed  : 
Plant  of  ipy  native  soil  !  The  lime  may  fling 
More  potent  fragrance  on  the  zephyr's  wing. 
The  milky  cocoa  richer  juices  shed. 
The  white  guava  lovelier  blossoms  spread  ; 
But  not  like  thee,  to  fond  remembrance  bring 
The  vanish'd  hours  of  life's  enchanting  spring  ; 
Short  calender  of  joys  for  ever  fled  ! 
Thou  bidst  the  scenes  of  childhood  rise  to  view. 
The  wild  wood  path  which  fancy   loves  to  trace. 
Where,  veil'd  in  leaves,  thy  fruit,  of  rosy  hue, 
Lurk'd  on  its  pliant  stem   with  modest  grace. 
But,  ah  !  when  thought  would  later  years  rcne\^, 
Alasi  successive  sorrows  cro^wd  the  space. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  55 

But  perhaps  t lie  most  cliarming  spot  of  this  inclo- 
9ure  was  that  wliicli  was  called  the  Repose  of  rir^iida. 
At  the  fool  of  the  rock,  which  bore  the  ii;'me  oi'  tlie 
Discovery  of  Friendship,  is  a  rook  from  w  I  km  ice  issues 
a  fountain,  forming  near  its  source  a  little  spot  of  marshy 
foil  in  the  midst  of  a  field  of  rich  grass.  At  the  time 
Margaret  was  d(;liveied  of  Paul,  I  made  her  a  present 
of  an  Indian  cocoa  which  had  been  given  me,  and 
which  she  planted  on  the  border  of  this  fenny  ground, 
in  order  that  the  (ree  might  one  day  serve  to  mark  tlie 
«pocha  ©f  her  son's  birth.  Madame  de  la  Tour  planted 
another  cocoa,  with  the  same  view,  at  the  birth  of  Vir- 
ginia. Those  fruits  produced  two  cocoa-trees,  which 
formed  all  the  records  of  the  two  families  :  one  was 
called  the  tree  of  Paul,  tlie  other  the  tree  of  Vir- 
ginia. They  grew,  in  the  same  proportion  as  the  two 
young  persons,  of  an  unequal  height  ;  but  they  rose  at  the 
end  of  twelve  years  above  the  cottages.  Already  their 
tender  stalks  were  interwoven,  and  their  young  branches 
of  cocoas  hung  over  the  bason  of  the  fountain.  Except 
this  little  plantation,  the  nook  of  the  rock  had  been 
left  as  it  was  decorated  by  nature.  On  its  brown  and 
humid  sides  large  plants  of  maidenhair  glistened  witl» 
their  green  and  dark  stars  ;  and  tufts  of  wave-leaved 
harts-tongue,  suspended  like  long  ribbands  of  purpled 
green,  floated  on  the  winds.  Near  this  grew  a  chain 
of  the  Madagascar  periwinkle,  the  flowers  of  which  re- 
semble the  red  gillifiowçr  ;  and  the  long-podded  capsa* 


56  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

cum,  the  cloves  of  which  are  of  the  color  of  blooii, 
and  more  glowing  than  coral.  The  herb  of  bahn,  with 
its  leaves  within  the  heart,  and  the  sweet  basil,  which 
has  the  odor  of  the  gilliflower,  exhaled  the  most  de- 
licious perfumes.  From  the  steep  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain hung  the  graceful  lianas,  like  a  floating  drapery, 
forming  magnificent  canopies  of  verdure  upon  the  sides 
of  the  rocks.  The  sea-birds,  allured  by  tlie  stillness  of 
those  retreats,  resorted  thither  to  pass  the  night.  At  the 
hour  of  sun-set  we  perceived  the  curlew  and  the  stint 
skimming  along  the  sea-shore  ;  the  cardinal  poized  high 
in  air  ;  and  the  white  bird  of  the  tropic,  which  aban- 
dons, with  the  star  cf  day,  the  solitudes  of  the  Indian 
ocean.  Virginia  loved  to  repose  upon  the  border  of  this 
fountain,  decorated  with  wild  and  sublime  magnificence. 
She  often  seated  herself  beneath  the  shade  of  the  two 
cocoa  trees,  and  there  she  sometimes  led  her  goats  to 
graze.  While  she  prepared  cheesrs  uf  their  milk,  she 
loved  to  see  them  browse  on  the  maidenhair  which  grevr 
upon  the  steep  sides  of  the  rock,  and  hang  suspended 
upon  one  of  its  cornices,  as  on  a  pedestal.  Paul,  ob- 
serving that  Virginia  was  fond  of  this  spot,  brought 
thither  from  the  neighboring  forest  a  great  variety  of 
birds-nests.  The  old  birds  following  their  young,  esta- 
blished themselves  in  this  new  colony.  Virginia  at  stat- 
ed times  distributed  amongst  them  grains  of  rice,  millet, 
and  maize.  As  soon  as  she  appeared,  the  whistling 
blackbird,  the  amadavid-bird,  the  note  of  which  is  so 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


61 


soft,  the  cardinal,  the  black  frigate  bird,  with  its  pUi- 
mage  the  color  of  -flame,  forsook  tiieir  bushes  ;  the  pe- 
rotiuet,  green  as  an  emerald,  descended  from  the  neigh- 
boring fan-palms;  the  partridge  ran  along  the  grass  :  all 
advanced  promiscuously  towards  her  like  a  brood  of 
.chickens  ;  and  she  and  Paul  delighted  to  observe  their 
sports,  their  repasts,  and  their  loves. 

Amiable  children  !  thus  passed  your  early  days 
in  innocence  and  in  thç^exercise  of  benevolence.  How 
many  times  on  this  very  spot  have  your  mothers,  pres- 
sing you  in  their  arms,  blessed  Heaven  for  the  consolations 
your  unfolding  virtues  prepared  for  their  declining  years, 
wliile  already  they  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  you 
begin  life  under  the  most  happy  auspices!  How  many 
times,  beneath  tlie  shade  of  those  rocks,  liave  I  par- 
taken with  them  of  your  rural  repasts,  -which  cost  no 
-animal  its  lifu  !  Gourds  filled  with  milk,  fresh  eggs, 
cakes  of  rice  placed  upon  plantain-leaves,  baskets  load- 
ed with  mangoes,  orang>'s,  dates,  pomegranates,  pine- 
apples, furnished  at  the  same  time  the  most  wholesome 
food,  the  most  beautiful  colors,  and  the  most  delicious 
juices. 

The  conversation  was  gentle  and  innocent  as  the 
repasts.  Paul  often  talked  of  the  labors  of  the  day, 
and  thoue  of  the  morrow.  He  was  continually  forming 
some  plan  of  accommodation    for  llicir  Utile  society. 


58  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Here  he  cViscovered  that  the  paths  were  rough  ;  tliere, 
that  the  family  circle  were  ill  seated  :  sometimes  the 
young  arbors  did  not  aftbrd  sufficient  shade,  and  Vir- 
ginia  might  be  better  placed  elsewhere. 

In"  the  rainy  seasons  the  two  families  assembled  to- 
gether in  the  hut,  and  employed  themselves  in  weaving 
mats  of  grass,  and  baskets  of  bamboo.  Rakes,  spades, 
•and  hatchets,  were  ranged  along  the  walls  in  the  most 
perfect  order  ;  and  near  those  instruments  of  agriculture, 
were  placed  tlie  productions  which  were  the  fruits  of  la- 
bor ;  sacks  of  rice,  sheaves  of  corn,  and  baskets  of  the 
plantain  fruit.  Some  degree  of  luxury  is  usually  united 
"with  plenty  ;  and  Virginia  was  taught  by  her  mother 
and  Margaret,  to  prepare  sherbet  and  cordials  from  the 
juice  of  the  sugar-cane,  the  orange,  and  the  citron. 

When  night  came,  those  families  supped  togethéf 
by  the  light  of  a  lamp  ;  after  which  Madame  de  la  ToUr 
or  Margaret  related  histories  of  travellei-s  lost  during  the 
nîght  in  such  of  the  forests  of  Europe  as  are  infested  by 
banditti  \  or  told  a  dismal  tu!e  of  some  shipwrecked 
vessel,  thrown  by  the  tempest  upon  the  rocks  of  a  desart 
island.  To  these  recitals  their  children  listened  with 
'eager  sensibility,  and  earnestly  begged  that  Heaven 
would  grant  they  might  one  day  have  the  joy  of  shewing 
'their  hospitality  towards  such  unfortunate  persons.  At 
length  the  t-vo  families  separated  and  retired  to  rest,  im» 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  rf^ 

patient  to  meet  again  the  next  morning.  Sometimes 
they  were  lulled  to  repose  by  the  beating  rains,  which 
lell  in  torrents  upon  tiic  roof  of  tlicir  cottages;  and  some- 
times by  the  hollow  winds,  which  brought  to  their  ear 
the  distant  murmur  of  the  waves  breaking  upon  the 
shore.  They  blessed  Cod  for  their  personal  safety,  of 
•whicii  their  feeling  becanre  stronger  from  the  idea  of  re- 
mote danger. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  occasionally  read  aloud 
some  afTecting  iiibtory  of  the  Old  or  New  Testament. 
Her  auditors  reasoned  but  little  upon  those  sacred  books, 
for  their  theology  consisted  in  sentiment,  like  that  of 
nature  ;  and  their  morality  in  action,  like  that  of  the 
gospel.  Those  families  had  no  particular  days  devoted 
to  pleasure,  and  others  to  sadness.  Every  day  was  to 
them  a  holiday,  and  all  which  surrounded  them  one  holy 
temple,  where  they  for  ever  adored  an  Infinite  Intelli- 
gence, the  friend  of  human  kind.  A  sentiment  of  con- 
fidence in  his  supreme  power  filled  their  minds  with 
consolation  under  the  past,  with  fortitude  for  the  present, 
and  with  hope  for  tiie  future.  Thus,  compelled  by 
misfortune  to  return  to  a  state  of  nature,  those  women 
had  Unfolded  in  their  own  bosoms,  and  in  those  of  their 
children,  the  feelings  whicli  are  most  natural  to  the 
human  miud,  and  which  are  oujr  best  support  under 
evil. 


60  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

But  as  cloiuls  sometimes  arise  which  cast  a  gloom 
over  the  best  regulated  tempers,  whenever  melancholy 
took  possession  of  any  member  of  this  little  society,  the 
rest  endeavored  to  banisli  painful  thoughts  rather  by  sen- 
timent than  by  arguments.  Margaret  exerted  lier  gaiety. 
Madame  de  la  Tour  employed  her  mild  theology  ;  Vir- 
ginia her  tender  caresses  ;  Paul,  his  cordial  and  engag- 
ing frankness.  Even  Mary  and  Domingo  hastened  to 
offer  their  succor,  and  to  weep  witli  those  that  wept. 
Tims  weak  plants  are  interwoven  in  order  to  resist  the 
tempests. 

During  the  fine  season,  they  went  every  Sunday 
to  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  the  steeple  of 
which  you  see  yonder  upon  the  plain.  After  service, 
the  poor  often  came  to  require  some  kind  office  at  their 
hands.  Sometimes  an  unhappy  creature  sought  their  ad- 
vice, sometimes  a  child  led  them  to  its  sick  mother  in 
the  neighborliood.  Tiiey  always  took  witli  them  reme- 
dies for  the  ordinary  diseases  of  tlie  country,  which  they 
administered  in  that  soothing  manner  which  stamps  so 
much  value  upon  the  smallest  favors.  Above  all  they 
succeeded  in  banisiiiiig  the  disorders  of  the  mind,  which 
are  so  intolerable  in  solitude,  and  under  the  infirmities  of 
a  weakened  frame.  Mailamc  de  la  Tour  spoke  with  such 
sublime  confidence  of  the  Divinity,  that  the  sick, 
while  listening  to  her,  believed  that  he  was  present.  Vir- 
ginina  often  returned  home  with  her  eye»  wet  with  tears. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


61 


and  her  heart  overflowing  with  delight,  havuig  had  an  op- 
portunity of  doing  good.  After  tiiose  visits  of  charity, 
tliey  sometimes  prolonged  tlieir  way  by  the  Sloping 
Mountain,  till  they  reached  my  dwelling,  where  1  had 
prepared  dinner  for  them,  upon  the  banks  of  the  little 
river  which  glides  near  my  cottage.  I  produced  on  those 
occasions  some  bottles  of  old  wine,  in  order  to  heighten 
the  gaiety  of  our  Indian  repast  by  the  cordial  productions 
of  Kiirope.  Someli:ii;"s  we  met  upon  the  sea-shore,  at  the 
mouth  of  little  rivers,  which  are  here  scarcely  larger  than 
brooks.  We  brought  i'roni  the  plantation  om*  vegetable 
provisions,  to  which  we  added  such  as  the  sea  furnished 
in  great  variety.  Seated  upon  a  rock,  beneath  the  shade 
of  the  velvet  sunflower,  we  heard  the  mountain  billows 
break  at  our  feet  with  a  dashing  noise;  and  sometimes 
on  tiiat  spot  we  listened  to  the  plaintive  strains  of  the 
water-curlew.  Madame  de  la  Tour  aiîswered  his  sorroT^'- 
ful  notes  in  the  foliowin:?  sonnet. 


Q^  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


SONNET 

TO  THE  CURLEW. 


Sooth'd  by  tlie  murmurs  on  the  sea-beat  shore. 
His  dun  grey  plumage  floating  to  the  gale. 
The  curlew  blends  his  melancholy  wail 
"With  those  hoarse  sounds  the  rushing  waters  pour. 
Like  thee,  congenial  bird  !  my  steps  explore 
The  bleak  lone  sea-beach,  or  the  rocky  dale. 
And  shun  the  orange  bower,  the  myrtle  vale. 
Whose  gay  luxuriance  suits  my  soul  no  more. 
I  love  the  ocean's  broad  expanse,  when  drest 
In  limpid  clearness,  or  when  tempests  blow. 
When  the  smooth  currents  on  its  placid  breast 
Flow  calm  as  my  past  moments  us'd  to  flow  ; 
Or  when  it's  troubled  waves  refuse  to  rest. 
And  seem  the  symbol  of  my  present  woe. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  63 

Our  repasts  were  succeeded  by  the  songs  and  dances 
of  tlie  two  young  people.  A'irginia  sung  the  happiness 
of  pastoral  life,  and  the  misery  of  tiiose  wlio  were  impel- 
led by  avarice  to  cross  the  furious  ocean,  ratlier  than  cul- 
tivate the  earth,  and  enjoy  its  peaceful  bounties.  Some- 
times she  performed  a  pantomime  witii  Paul  in  the 
mannei-  of  the  negroes.  The  first  language  of  man  is 
pantomime  ;  it  is  known  to  all  nations,  and  is  so  natural 
and  so  expressive,  that  the  children  of  the  European  in- 
habitants catch  it  with  facility  from  the  negroes.  Vir- 
ginia recalling,  amongst  the  histories  which  her  mo« 
ther  had  read  to  her,  those  which  liad  alfected  her  most, 
represented  the  principal  events  with  beautiful  simpli- 
city. Sometimes  at  the  sound  of  Domingo's  tamtam 
she  appeared  upon  the  green-sward,  bearing  a  pitcher 
upon  h^r  head,  and  advanced  with  a  timid  step  to 
wards  the  source  of  a  neighboring  fountain,  to  draw 
■water.  Domingo  and  Mary,  who  personated  the  shep- 
herds of  M  id  Ian,  forbade  her  to  approach,  and  repulsed 
her  sternly.  Upon  which  Paul  flew  to  her  succor, 
beat  away  the  shepherds,  filled  Virginia's  pitcher,  and 
placing  it  upon  her  head,  bound  her  brows  at  the 
«ame  time  with  a  wreath  of  the  red  flowers  of  the  Ma- 
dagascar periwinkle,  which  served  to  heighten  the  deli- 
cacy of  her  skin.  Then  joining  tlieir  sports,  I  took 
upon  me  the  part  ofRaguel,  and  bestowed  upon  Paul 
my  daughter  Zephora  in  marriage. 
■-.>• 


64  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Sometimes  ^  iiginia  represented  the  unfortunate 
Ruth,  returning  poor  and  widowed  to  her  own  coun- 
try, wliere,  at'ler  so  long  an  absence,  she  found  her- 
self as  in  a  foreign  land.  Domingo  and  Mary  per- 
sonalcd  the  reapers,  ^'iri^inia  followed  their  steps, 
gleaning  here  and  there  a  few  ears  of  corn.  She  was 
interrogated  by  Paul  with  the  gravity  of  a  patriarch, 
and  answered,  will»  a  faultering  voice,  his  ques- 
tions. Soon  touched  with  conipa;>ion,  he  granted  an 
asylum  to  innocence,  and  hospita'.ity  to  misfortune. 
He  filled  Virginia's  lap  with  plenty  ;  and,  leading  her 
towards  us  as  before  the  old  men  of  the  city,  declared 
his  purpose  to  take  her  in  marriage.  At  this  scene, 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  recalling  the  desolate  situation 
in  which  she  had  been  left  by  her  relations,  her  wi- 
dowhood, the  kind  reception  she  had  met  with  from 
Margaret,  succeeded  by  the  soothing  hope  of  a  happy 
union  between  their  children,  could  not  forbear  weep- 
ing ;  and  the  sensations  which  such  recollections  ex- 
cited, led  the  w  hole  audience  to  pour  fortii  those  luxu- 
rious tears  which  have  their  mingled  source  in  sorrow 
and  in  joy. 

These  dramas  were  performed  with  such  an  air  of 
reality,  that  you  might  have  fancied  yourself  trans- 
ported to  the  plains  of  Syria  or.  of  Palestine.  We 
were  not  unfurnished  with  either  decorations,  lights,  or 
an  orchestra,  suitable  to  the  representation.    Tlie  scene 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  ^ 

•was  generally  placed  in  the  opening  of  the  forest, 
wliere  such  parts  as  were  penetrable  formed  around  us 
numerous  arcades  of  foliage,  beneath  which  we  were 
sheltered  from  the  heat  during  the  whole  day  ;  but 
when  tiie  sim  descended  towards  the  horizon,  its  rays, 
broken  upon  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  diverged  amongst 
the  shadows  of  the  forest  in  long  lines  of  light,  which 
produced  the  most  sublime  effect.  Sometimes  the  whole 
of  its  broad  disk  appeared  at  the  end  of  an  avenue, 
spreading  one  daz/ling  mass  of  brightness.  The  foliage 
of  the  trees,  illuminated  from  beneath  by  its  saffron 
beams,  glowed  with  the  lustre  of  the  topaz  and  the  eme- 
rald. Their  brown  and  mossy  trunks  appeared  transform- 
ed into  cohinuis  of  antique  bronze  ;  and  the  birds,  who 
had  retired  in  silence  to  their  leafy  shades  to  pass  the 
night,  surprised  to  see  the  radiance  of  a  second  morning, 
hailed  tlie  star  of  day  witii  innumerable  carols. 

Night  soon  overtook  us  during  those  rural  enter- 
tainments ;  but  the  purity  of  the  air,  and  the  mildness 
of  the  climate,  admitted  of  our  sleeping  in  the  woods, 
secure  from  the  injuries  of  the  weather,  and  no  less  se- 
cure from  the  molestation  of  robbers.  At  our  return  the 
following  day  to  our  respective  habitations,  we  found 
them  exactly  in  the  same  state  in  which  they  had  beea 
left.  In  this  island,  which  then  had  no  commerce, 
there  was  so  much  simplicity  and  good  faith,  that  the 

f2 


66 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


doors  of  several  houses  were  without  a  key,  and  a  lock 
was  ail  object  of  curiosity  to  many  of  the  natives. 

Amidst  the  luxuriant  beauty  of  tliis  favorite  cli- 
mate, Madame  de  la  Tour  often  regretted  the  quick 
succession  from  day  to  night  which  takes  place  between 
the  tropics,  and  which  deprived  her  pensive  mind  of 
that  hour  of  twilight,  that  softened  gloom  of  which  is  so 
soothing  and  sacred  to  the  feelings  of  tender  melan- 
eholy.     This  regret  is  expressed  in  the  following  sonnet. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  $^ 


SONNET 

TO  THE  TORRID  ZONE. 

Pathway  of  light  !  o'er  thy  empurpled  zone 
With  lavish  ciianns  perennial  summer  strays  ; 
Soft  'midst  thy  spicy  groves  the  zephyr  plays. 
While  far  around  tlic  rich  perfumes  are  thrown  ; 
The  amadavid-bird  for  tliee  alone 
Spreads  his  gay    plumes,  that  catch  thy  vivid  rays  ; 
For  thee  the  gems   willi  liquid  lustre  blaze. 
And  Nature's  various  wealth  is  all  thy  own. 
But,  ah  !  not  thine  is  twilight's   doubtful  gloom, 
Those  mild  gradations,  mingling  day  with  night  ; 
Here  instant  darkness  shrouds  thy  genial  bloom. 
Nor  leaves  my   pensive  soul  that  ling'ring  light. 
When  musing  mem'ry  would   each  trace  resume 
Of  fading  pleasures  in  succes>ive  fliglit. 


^  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Paul  and  Virginia  had  neither  clock  nor  alma- 
nack, or  books  of  chronology,  history,  or  philosophy. 
The  periods  of  their  lives  were  regulated  by  those  of 
nature.  They  knew  the  hours  of  the  day  by  the  sha- 
dows of  tlie  trees,  the  seasons  by  the  times  when 
those  trees  bore  flowers  or  fruit,  and  the  years  by  the 
number  of  their  harvests.  Those  soothing  images  dif- 
fused an  inexpressible  charm  over  their  conversation. 
"  It  is  time  to  dine,"  said  Virginia  ;  *'  the  shadows  of 
the  plantain-trees  are  at  their  roots  ;"  or,  "  night  ap- 
proaches; the  tamarinds  close  their  leaves."  "  When 
■will  you  come  to  see  us  ?"  inquired  some  of  her  com- 
panions in  the  neighborhood.  "  At  the  time  of  the 
sugar-canes,"  answered  Virginia.  "  Your  visit  will  be 
then  still  more  delightful,"  resumed  her  young  acquain- 
tances. When  she  was  asked  what  was  her  own  age, 
and  that  of  Paul,  "  My  brother,"  said  she,  "  is  as  old 
as  the  great  cocoa-tree  of  tlie  fountain  ;  and  I  am  as 
old  as  the  little  cocoa-tree.  The  mangoes  have  borne 
fruit  twelve  times,  and  the  orange-trees  have  borne  flow- 
ers four  and  twenty  times,  since  I  came  into  the  world." 
Their  lives  seemed  linked  to  tlie  trees  like  those  of 
fawns  or  dryads.  They  knew  no  other  historical  epochas 
than  that  of  the  lives  of  their  mothers,  no  other  chrono- 
logy than  that  of  their  orchards,  and  no  other  philo- 
sophy than  that  of  doing  good,  and  resigning  them- 
selves to  the  will  of  Heaven. 


PAUL  AND  \IRGINIA.  (J(j 

Thus  grew  those  cliildren  of  nature.  No  care  had 
(roiibled  their  peace,  no  inU.'mperaiice  had  corrupted 
their  blood,  no  misplaced  passion  had  depraved  their 
hearts.  Love,  innocence,  and  piety,  possessed  tiieir 
souls  ;  and  tho<;e  intellectual  graces  unfolded  themselves 
in  their  features,  their  attitudes,  and  their  motions. 
Still  in  the  morning  of  life,  they  had  all  its  blooming 
freshness  ;  and,  surely  such  in  the  garden  of  Eden  ap- 
peared our  first  parents,  when,  coming  fi-om  the  hands 
of  God,  they  fu>t  saw,  approached,  and  conversed 
together,  like  brother  and  sister.  Virginia  was  gentle, 
modest,  and  confiding  as  Eve  ;  and  Paul,  like  Adam, 
united  the  figure  of  manhood  with  the  simplicity  of  a 
child. 

When  alone  with  Virginia,  he  has  a  thousand 
times  told  me  he  used  to  say  to  her,  at  his  return 
from  labor,  "  When  I  am  wearied,  the  sight  of  you 
refreshes  me.  If  from  the  summit  of  the  mountain  I 
perceive  you  below  in  the  valley,  you  appear  to  me  in 
the  midst  of  our  orchard  like  a  blushing  rose-bud.  If 
you  go  towards  our  mother's,  house,  the  partridge, 
when  it  runs  to  meet  its  young,  has  a  shape  less  beauti- 
tul,  and  a  step  less  light.  When  I  lose  sight  of  you, 
through  the  trees,  I  have  no  need  to  see  you  in  order  to 
find  you  again.  Something  of  you,  I  know  not  how, 
remains  for  me  in  tiie  air  w  here  you  have  passed,  in 
the  grass  where  you  liave  been  seated.     \\'hcn  I  conxe 


70  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

near  you,  you  deliglit  all  my  senses.  The  azure  of 
heaven  is  less  charming  than  the  blue  of  yowr  eyes,  and 
the  song  of  the  amadavid-bird  less  soft  than  the  sound  of 
your  voice.  If  I  only  touch  you  with  my  finger,  my 
■whole  frame  trembles  with  pleasure.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  day  when  we  crossed  over  the  great  stones  of 
the  River  of  the  Three  Peaks  ?  I  was  very  much  tired  be- 
fore we  reached  the  bank  ;  but  as  soon  as  I  had  taken 
you  in  my  arms,  I  seemed  to  have  wings  like  a  bird. 
Tell  me  by  what  charm  you  have  so  enchanted  me  f 
Is  it  by  your  wisdom  ?  Our  mothers  have  more  than 
either  of  us.  Is  it  by  your  caresses  ?  Tliey  embrace  me 
much  oftenerthan  you.  I  think  it  must  be  by  your  good- 
ness. I  shall  never  forget  how  you  walked  bare-footed  to 
the  Black  River,  to  ask  pardon  for  the  poor  wandering 
slave.  Here,  my  beloved  !  take  tiiis  flowering  orange- 
branch,  which  I  have  culled  in  the  forest;  you  will  place 
it  at  night  ne;y  your  bed.  Eat  this  honey-comb, 
which  I  have  taken  for  you  from  the  top  of  a  rock, 
but  first  lean  upon  my  bosom,  and  1  shall  be  re- 
freshed." 

ViRGihfiA  then  answered,  "  O,  my  dear  brother, 
the  rays  of  the  sun  in  the  morning  at  the  top  of  the 
rocks  give  me  less  joy  than  the  sight  of  you.  I  love 
my  mother,  I  love  yours  ;  but  when  they  call  you 
their  son,  I  love  them  a  thousand  times  more.  When 
they  caress  you,  I  feel  it  more  sensibly  than  when  I  aw 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  i^j 

caressed  myself.  You  ask  me  Avhy  you  love  me.  Why  ? 
all  creatures  tliat  are  brouglit  up  together  love  one 
another,  ixiok  at  our  birds  reared  up  in  the  same  nests  ; 
they  love  like  us  ;  they  are  always  together  like  us. 
Hark  !  how  they  call  and  answer  from  one  tree  to 
another.  So  when  the  echoes  bring  to  my  ears  the  airs 
which  you  play  upon  your  flute  at  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain, I  repeat  the  words  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley. 
Above  all,  you  are  dear  to  me  since  the  day  wjien  you 
wanted  to  fight  the  master  of  the  slave  for  me.  Since 
that  time  how  often  have  I  said  to  myself,  '  Ah,  my 
brother  has  a  good  heart  ;  but  for  him  I  should  have 
died  of  terror.'  I  pray  to  God  every  day  for  my 
mother  and  yours  ;  for  you,  and  for  our  poor  servants  ; 
but  when  I  pronounce  your  name,  my  devotion  seems 
to  increase,  I  ask  so  earnestly  of  God  that  no  harm 
may  befal  you  !  Why  do  }  ou  go  so  far,  and  climb  so 
high,  to  seek  fruits  and  flowers  for  me  ?  How  much 
you  are  fatiguetl  !"  and  with  her  little  while  handker- 
chief she  wiped  the  damps  from  his  brow. 

For  some  time  past,  however,  Virginia  had  felt 
her  heart  agitated  by  new  sensations.  Her  fine  blue 
eyes  lost  their  lustre,  her  cheek  its  freshness,  and  her 
frame  was  seized  with  universal  languor.  Serenity  no 
longer  sat  upon  her  brow,  nor  smiles  played  upon  her 
lips.  She  became  suddenly  gay  without  joy,  and  me- 
lancholy   without  vexation.     She    fled    lier   innocent 


72  TAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

sports,  lier  gentle  l;i1)or<;,  ami  the  society  of  her  beloved 
family  ;  wandering  along  the  most  unfrequented  parts  of 
the  plantation,  and  seeking  every  where  that  rest  which 
she  could  no  where  find.  Sometimes  at  the  sight  of 
Paul  she  advanced  sportively  towards  him,  and,  when 
going  to  accost  him,  was  seized  with  sudden  confu- 
sion :  her  paie  cheeks  were  overspread  with  blushes, 
and  her  eyes  no  longer  dared  to  n\eet  those  of  lier  bro- 
ther. Paul  said  to  her,  "  The  rocks  are  covered  with 
verdure,  our  birds  begin  to  sing  when  you  approach, 
every  thing  around  you  is  gay,  and  you  only  are  un- 
happy." He  endeavored  to  soolii  lier  by  Iiis  embraces  ; 
but  she  turned  away  her  head,  and  tied  trembling  to- 
wards her  motker.  Thecal  esses  of  her  brother  excited 
too  much  emotion  in  her  agitated  lieart.  Paul  could 
not  comprehend  the  moaning  of  those  new  and  strange 
caprices. 

On'E  of  those  summers,  which  sometimes  desolate 
the  countries  situated  between  the  tropics,  now  spread 
its  ravages  over  this  island.  It  was  near  the  end  of 
December,  when  the  sun  at  Capricorn  darts  over  Mau- 
ritius during  the  space  of  three  weeks  its  vertical 
fires.  The  south  wind,  which  prevails  almost  through- 
out the  whole  year,  no  longer  blew.  Vast  columns  of 
dust  arose  from  the  highways,  and  hung  suspended 
in  the  air  ;  the  ground  was  every  where  broken  into 
défis  ;   the    gras»  was  burnt  ;    hot    exiialalions   issued 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  r^^ 

from  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  and  their  rivulets  for 
tiie  most  part  became  (h-y  ;  fiery  vapors  during  the  day- 
ascended  from  the  plains,  and  appeared  at  the  setting 
of  the  sun  Hke  aconllagratlon.  Night  brought  no  cool- 
ness to  the  heated  atmosphere  :  tlie  orb  of  tlie  moon 
seemed  of  blood,  and,  rising  in  a  misty  horizon,  ap- 
pcTired  of  supernatural  magnitude.  The  drooping  cat- 
tle on  the  sides  of  the  hills,  stretching  out  their  necks 
towards  heaven,  and  panting  for  air,  made  the  vallics 
reecho  with  tlieir  mclanclioly  lowings;  even  the  Caf- 
fre,  by  whom  they  were  led,  threw  himself  upon  the 
earth  in  search  of  coolness  :  but  the  scorching  sun  had 
every  where  penetrated,  and  the  stifling  atmosphere 
resounded  with  the  buzzing  noise  of  insects,  who  souglit 
to  allay  their  thirst  in  the  blood  of  men  and  of  animals. 

O.v  one  of  tliose  sultry  nights  Virginia,  restless 
and  unhappy  arose,  then  went  again  to  rest,  but  could 
find  in  no  attitude  either  slumber  or  repose.  At 
length  she  bent  lier  way  by  the  ligiit  of  the  moon  to- 
wards her  fountain,  and  gazed  at  its  spring,  which, 
notwithstanding  the  drought,  still  flowed  like  silver 
threads  down  tlie  brown  sides  of  the  rock.  She  flung 
herself  into  the  bason;  its  coolness  re-animatcd  her  spi- 
rits, and  a  thousand  sootiiing  remcmlirances  presented 
themselves  to  her  mind.  She  recollected  that  in  her 
infancy  her  mother  and  Margaret  amused  themselves 
b-y  bathing  her  with  I'aul  in  this  very  spot  j  that 
G 


174  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Paul  afterwards,  reserving  this  bath  for  lier  use  only, 
had  dug  its  bed,  covered  the  bottom  with  sand,  and 
sown  aromatic  herbs  around  the  borders.  She  saw,  re- 
flected through  the  water  upon  her  naked  arms  and  bo- 
som, the  two  cocoa-trees  which  were  planted  at  her 
biith  and  that  of  her  brother,  and  which  interwove 
above  her  head  their  green  branches  and  young  fruit. 
She  thought  of  Paul's  friendship  sweeter  than  the 
odors,  purer  than  the  waters  of  the  fountain,  stronger 
than  the  intertwining  palm-trees,  and  she  sighed.  Re- 
flecting upon  the  hour  of  the  night,  and  the  profound 
solitude,  her  imagination  again  grew  disordered.  Sud- 
denly she  flew  affrighted  from  those  dangerous  shades, 
and  those  w'aters  which  she  fancied  hotter  than  the 
torrid  sun-beam,  and  ran  to  her  mother  in  order  to 
find  a  refuge  from  herself.  Often,  wishing  to  unfold 
her  sufferings,  she  pressed  her  mother's  hand  within 
her  own  ;  often  she  was  ready  to  pronounce  the  name 
of  Paul  ;  but  her  oppressed  heart  left  not  her  lips 
the  power  of  utterance  ;  and,  leaning  her  head  on 
her  mother's  bosom,  she  could  only  bathe  it  with 
her  tears. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  though  she  easily  discerned 
the  source  of  her  daughter's  uneasiness,  did  not  think 
proper  to  speak  to  her  on  that  subject.  "  My  dear 
child,"  said  she,  "  address  yourself  to  God,  who  dis- 
poses at  his  will  of  health  and  of  life.    He  tries  you  now 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  -75 

in  Older  to  recompe^ise  you  hereafter.     Remember  tlut 
we  are  only  placed  upon  earth  for  the  exercise  of  virtue. 

The  excessive  heat  drew  vapors  from  the  ocean, 
which  hung  over  the  island  like  a  vast  awning,  and  ga- 
thered round  tiie  summits  of  the  mountains,  while  long 
flakes  of  fire  occasionally  issued  from  their  misty  peaks^ 
Soon  after  the  most  terrible  thunder  re-echoed  through 
the  woods,  the  plains,  and  the  vailles  ;  the  rains  fell 
from  the  skies  like  cataracts  ;  foaming  torrents  rolled 
down  the  sides  of  this  mountain  ;  tiie  bottom  of  the  val- 
ley became  a  sea;  the  plat  of  ground  on  which  tiie  cot- 
tages were  built,  a  little  island  ;  and  the  entrance  of 
this  valley  a  sluice,  along  wjiich  rushed  precipitately  the 
moaning  waters,  earth,  trees,  and  rocks. 

Meantime  the  trembling  family  addressed  their 
prayers  to  God  in  the  cottage  of  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
the  roof  of  which  cracked  horribly  from  the  struggling 
winds.  So  vivid  and  frequent  were  the  lightnings, 
tiiat,  althougli  the  doors  and  window-shutters  were 
well  fastened,  every  object  without  was  distinctly  seen 
through  the  jointed  beams.  Paul,  followed  by  Do- 
mingo, went  with  intrepidity  from  one  cottage  to  ano- 
ther, notwithstanding  the  fury  of  tlie  tempest  ;  here  sup- 
porting a  partition  with  a  buttress,  there  driving  in  a 
stake,  and  only  returning  to  the  family  to  calm  their 
fears,    by  the  hope  that  the  storm  was  passing  away. 


76  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Accordingly,  in  the  evening  the  rains  ceased,  the  trade- 
winds  of  the  south  pursued  their  ordinary  course,  the 
tempestuous  clouds  were  thrown  towards  the  north- 
east, and  tiie  setting  sun  appeared  in    the   horizon. 

Virginia's  first  wish  was  to  visit  the  spot  called 
her  Repose.  Paul  approached  her  with  a  timid  air, 
and  offered  her  the  assistance  of  his  arm,  which  she 
accepted,  smiling,  and  they  left  the  cottage  together. 
The  air  was  fresh  and  clear;  white  vapors  arose  from 
the  ridges  of  the  mountains,  furrowed  here  and  there 
by  the  foam  of  the  torrents,  which  were  now  becom- 
ing dry.  The  garden  was  altogether  destroyed  by  the 
hollows  which  the  flood  had  worn,  the  roots  of  th« 
fruit-trees  were  for  the  most  part  laid  bare,  and  vast 
heaps  of  sand  covered  the  chain  of  meadows,  and 
choaked  up  Virginia's  bath.  The  two  cocoa-trees,  how- 
ever, were  still  erect,  and  still  retained  their  freshness  ; 
but  they  were  no  longer  surrounded  by  turf,  or  ar- 
bor?, or  birds,  except  a  few  amadavid-birds,  who, 
upon  the  points  of  the  ncigliboring  rocks,  lamented  iu 
plaintive  notes  the  loss  of  their  young. 

At  the  sight  of  this  general  desolation,  Virginia 
exclaimed  to  Paul,  "  You  brought  birds  hither,  and 
the  hurricane  has  killed  them.  You  planted  this  gar- 
den, and  it  is  now  destroyed.  Every  thing  tlien  upon 
earth    perishes,  and  it  is  only  heaven  that  is  not  sub- 


Py^UL  AND  VIRGINIA.  77 

ject  to  change."     "  Why,"    answered    Paul,    "  why 
cannot  I  give  you  something  which  belongs  to  heaven  ? 
but  I  am  possessed  of  notiiing  even  upon  eartli."     Vir- 
ginia   blushing,    resumed,    "  You   have  the  picture  of 
Saint  Paul."     Scarcely  had  she  pronounced  the  words, 
when  he  flew  in  search   of  it  to  his   mother's  cottage. 
This  picture  was  a  small  miniature,  representing  Paul 
the  Hermit,  and  wliich  Margaret,  who  was  very  pious, 
had  long  worn  hung  at  her  neck  when  she  was  a  girl, 
and  which,  since  she  became  a  mother,  siie  had  placed 
round  the  neck  of  her  child.     It  had  even  happened, 
that  being,  while  pregnant,  abandoned    by  the   whole 
world,  and  continually  employed  in  contemplating  the 
image  of   this  benevolent    recluse,    her  offspring   had 
contracted,  at   least  so  she  fancied,  some  resemblance 
to   this  revered  object.     She   therefore  bestowed  upon 
him  the  name  of   Paul,    giving  him  for  his    patron  a 
saint    who  had  passed  his  life  far  from   mankind,    by 
whora  he   had  been   lirst  deceived,  and  then  forsaken. 
Virginia  upon  receiving  this  little  picture  from  tJie  hands 
of  Paul,  said  to  him    with  emotion,    "  My  dear   bro- 
ther, I  will    never    part  with  this    while  I    live  ;    nor 
will   I  ever  forget    that  you  have  given  me  the  only 
thing  which  you  possess  in  the  world."     At  this  tone  of 
friendship,  this  unhoped-for  return  of  fxmiliarity  and  ten- 
derness, Paul  attempted  to  embrace  her  :  but  light  as 
a  bird  slie  fled,  and  left  him  astonished,  and  unable  to 
account  for  a  conduct  so  extraordinary. 
G  2 


78  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Meanwhile  Margaret  said  to  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  "  Wliy  do  we  not  unite  our  children  by  marriage  > 
They  have  a  tender  attaclmient  to  each  other."  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tour  replied,  "  They  are  too  young,  and 
too  poor.  What  grief  would  it  occasion  us  to  see  Vir- 
ginia bring  into  the  world  unfortunate  ciiildren,  whom 
she  would  not  perhaps  have  sufficient  strength  to  rear  ! 
Your  negro  Doniingo  is  almost  too-  old  to  labor  ;  Ma- 
ry is  infirm.  As  for  myself,  my  dear  friend,  in  the 
space  of  fifteen  years,  I  find  my  strength  much  failed  : 
age  advances  rapidly  in  hot  climates,  and  above  all, 
under  the  pressure  of  misfortune.  Paul  is  our  only 
bope  :  let  us  wait  till  his  constitution  is  strengthened, 
and  till  he  can  support  us  by  his  labor  :  at  present 
you  well  know  that  we  have  only  sufficient  to  supply 
the  wants  of  the  day  :  but  were  we  to  send  Paul  for  a 
short  time  to  the  Indies,  commerce  would  furnish  him 
^ith  the  means  of  purchasing  a  slave  ;  and  at  his  return 
•we  will  unite  him  to  Virginia  ;  for  I  am  persuaded  no 
one  on  earth  can  render  her  so  happy  as  your  son. 
"We  will  consult  our  neighbor  on  this  subject." 

They  accordingly  asked  my  advice,  and  I  was  of 
their  opinion,  "  The  Indian  seas,"  I  observed  to  tliem, 
"  are  calm,  and,  in  choosing  a  favorable  season,  the 
voyage  is  seldoni  longer  than  six  weeks.  We  will  fur- 
nish Paul  with  a  little  venture  in  my  neighborhood, 
ivhere  he  is  much  beloved.    If  we  were  only  to  sup- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  <^g 

ply  him  with  some  raw  cotton,  of  which  we  make 
no  inc,  for  want  of  mills  to  work  it,  some  ebony, 
which  is  here  so  common  tiiat  it  serves  us  for,  fu'ing, 
and  some  rosin,  which  is  found  in  our  woods  ;  ail  those 
articles  will  sell  advantageously  in  tlie  Indies,  tliougii 
to  us  tiiey  are  useless." 

I  ENGAGED  to  obtain  permission  from  Monsieur 
de  la  Bourdonnais  to  undertake  this  voyage  ;  but  I  de- 
termined previously  to  mention  the  aiïair  to  Paul;  and 
my  surprise  was  great  when  this  young  man  said  to  me, 
with  a  degree  of  good  sense  above  his  age,  *'  And  why 
do  you  wish  me  to  leave  my  family  for  this  precarious 
pursuit  of  Fortune  ?  Is  there  any  commerce  more  ad- 
vantageous than  the  culture  of  the  ground,  which  yields 
sometimes  fifty  or  a  hundred  fold?  If  we  wish  to  en- 
gage in  commerce,  we  can  do  so  by  carrying  our  su- 
perfluities to  the  town,  witliout  my  wandering  to  the 
Indies.  Our  mothers  tell  me,  tliat  Domingo  is  old 
and  feeble,  but  I  am  youwg,  and  gathering  strength 
every  day.     If  any  accident  should  happen  during  my 

absence,  above  all,  to  Virginia,  who  already  sulTers 

Oil,  no,  no  !....!  cannot  resolve  to  leave  them." 

Tins  answer  threw  me  into  great  perplexity,  for 
Madame  de  la  Tour  had  not  concealed  from  me  the  si- 
tuation of  ^■irglnia,  and  her^desire  of  separating  those 
young  people  for  a  few  ycais.  These  ideas  1  did  not 
dare  to  suggest  to   Paul. 


30  I'AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

At  tliis  period  a  sliip,  which  arrived  from 
France,  brouglit  Madame  de  la  Tour  a  letter  from  her 
aunt.  Alarmed  by  the  terrors  of  approaching  death, 
which  could  alone  penetrate  a  heart  so  insensible,  reco- 
vering from  a  dangerous  disorder,  which  had  left  her 
in  a  state  of  weakness,  rendered  incurable  by  age,  slic 
desired  that  her  niece  would  return  to  France  ;  or,  if 
her  health  forbade  her  to  undertake  so  long  a  voy- 
age, she  conjured  her  to  send  Virginia,  on  whom  she 
wouW  bestow  a  good  education,  procure  for  her  a  splen- 
did marriage,  and  leave  her  tlie  inheritance  of  her 
whole  fortune.  The  jjcrusal  of  this  letter  spread  ge- 
neral consternation  through  the  family.  Domingo  and 
Mary  began  to  weep.  Paul,  motionless  with  surprise, 
appeared  as  if  his  heart  was  ready  to  burst  with  indig- 
nation ;  while  Virginia,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  her  mo^ 
ther,  had  not   power  to  uller   a  word. 

And  can  you  now  leave  us  ?"  cried  Margaret  to 
Madame  de  la  Tour.  "  No,  my  dear  friend,  no, 
my  beloved  children,"  replied  Madame  de  la  Tour  ; 
"  I  will  not  leave  you.  I  have  lived,  with  you,  and 
with  you  I  will  die.  I  have  known  no  happiness  but 
in  your  affection.  If  my  health  be  deranged,  my  past 
misfortunes  are  the  cause.  My  heart,  deeply  wound- 
ed by  the  cruelty  of  a  relation,  and  the  loss  of  my 
husband,  has  found  more  consolation  and  felicity  with 
you  beneath  these  humble  huts,  than  all  the  wealth 
of  m}'  family  could  now  give  me  in  my  own  country." 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  gj 

.  At  this  soothing  language  every  eye  overflowed 
Vith  tears  of  delight.  Paul  pressed  Madame  de  la  Tour 
in  his  arms,  exclaimed,  "  Neither  will  I  leave  you  !  I 
vill  not  go  to  the  Indies.  We  will  all  labor  for  you,  my 
dear  niotlier  ;  and  you  shall  never  feel  any  -wants  with 
us."  But  of  the  whole  society,  the  ])erson  who  dis- 
played the  least  transport,  and  who  probably  Alt  tliG 
most,  was  Virginia  ;  and,  during  the  remainder  of  iho 
dav,  that  gentle  gaiety  which  flowed  from  her  heart, 
and  proved  that  her  peace  was  restored,  completed 
the  general  satisfaction. 

The  next  day,  at  sun-rise,  while  they  were  offe^ 
ing  up,  as  usual,  their  morning  sacrifice  of  praise,  which 
preceded  their  breakfast,  Domingo  informed  them  that 
a  gentleman  on  jiorseback,  followed  by  two  slaves,  was 
coming  towards  the  plantation.  This  person  was  Mon- 
sieur delà  Bourdonnais.  Ile  entered  the  cottage,  where 
he  found  the  family  at  breakfast.  Virginia  had  prepar- 
ed, according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  coffee 
and  rice  boiled  in  water  ;  to  which  she  added  hot 
yams,  and  fresh  cocoas.  The  leaves  of  the  planlaiii- 
tree  supplied  the  want  of  table  linen;  and  calbassia- 
shells,  split  in  two,  served  for  uteniils.  The  governor 
expressed  some  surprise  at  the  homeliness  of  the  dwel- 
ling :  then,  addressing  himself  to  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
he  observed,  that  although  public  affairs  drew  his  at- 
tention   too    much  from  the    concerns  of   individuals. 


82  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

she  had  many  claims  to  hte  good  offices.  "  You 
have  an  aunt  at  Paris,  Madam/'  he  added,  "a woman 
of  quality,  and  immensely  rich,  who  expects  that  you 
•will  hasten  to  see  her,  and  who  means  to  bestow  upon 
you  her  whole  fortune."  Madame  de  la  Tour  replied, 
that  the  state  of  her  health  would  not  permit  her  to  under- 
take so  long  a  voyage.  "  At  least,"  resumed  Monsieur 
de  la  Bo'virdonnais,  "  you  cannot,  withoat  injustice,  de- 
prive this  amiable  young  lady,  your  daughter,  of  so 
noble  an  inheritance.  I  will  not  conceal  from  you, 
that  your  aunt  has  made  use  of  her  influence  to  oblige 
you  to  return  ;  and  that  I  have  received  official  letters, 
in  which  I  am  ordered  to  e.\ert  my  authority,  if  neces- 
sary, to  that  effect.  But,  as  I  only  wish  to  employ 
my  power  for  the  purpose  of  rendering  the  inhabitants 
of  this  colony  happy,  I  expect  from  your  good  sense 
the  voluntary  sacririce  of  a  few  years,  upon  which  de- 
pend your  daughter's  establishment  in  the  world,  and 
the  welfare  of  your  whole  life.  Wherefore  do  we  come 
to  these  islands?  Is  it  not  to  acquire  a  fortune!  And 
will  it  not  be  more  agreeable  to  fcturn  and  find  it  in 
your  own  country  ?" 

He  then  placed  a  great  bag  of  piasters,  which  had 
been  brought  hither  by  one  of  liis  slaves,  upon  the 
table.  "  This,"  added  lie,  "  is  allotted  by  your  aunt 
for  tlie  preparations  necessary  for  the  young  lady's 
voyage."     Gently  reproaching  Madame  de  la  Tour  for 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  gj 

not  having  had  recourse  to  him  in  her  difficulties,  he 
extolled  at  the  same  time  her  noble  fortitude.  Upon 
this  Paul  said  to  the  governor,  "  My  motlier  did  ad- 
dress herself  to  you,  Sir,  and  you  received  her  ill." 
*'  Have  you  another  child.  Madam  ?"  said  Monsieur 
de  la  Bourdonnais  to  Madame  de  la  Tour.  "  Nc, 
Sir,"  she  replied  :  "  this  is  the  child  of  my  friend  ;  but 
he  and  Virginia  are  equally  dear  to  us."  "  Young 
man,"  said  the  governor  to  Paul,  "  when  you  have  ac- 
quired a  little  experience  of  the  world,  you  will  know 
that  it  is  the  misfortune  of  people  in  place  to  be  de- 
ceived, and  thence  to  bestow  upon  intriguing  vice  that 
which  belongs  to  modest  merit." 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  at  the  request  of 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  placed  himself  next  her  at  table, 
and  breakfasted  in  the  manner  of  the  créoles,  upon 
coffee  mixed  with  rice,  boiled  in  water.  He  was  de- 
lighted with  the  order  and  neatness  which  prevailed  in 
the  little  cottage,  the  harmony  of  the  two  interesting 
families,  and  the  zeal  of  their  old  servants.  **  Here," 
exclaimed  he,  "  I  discern  only  wooden  furniture,  but 
I  find  serene  countenances,  and  hearts  of  gold."  Paul, 
enchanted  with  the  affability  of  tlu;  Governor,  said  to 
him,  "  I  wish  to  be  your  friend  ;  you  are  a  good  man." 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  received  with  pleasure  lihil 
insular  compliment,  and,  taking  Paul  by  tiie  hand, 
assured  him  that  he  might  rely  upon  his  friendship. 


84  I'AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Aftlr  breakfast  lie  took  Madame  de  la  Tour 
aside,  and  inrurnied  her  that  an  opportunity  presented  it- 
self of  sending  her  dauii;hlerto  France  in  a  ship  which  was 
going  to  sail  in  a  short  time  ;  that  he  would  recommend 
her  to  a  ladv,  a  rehition  of  his  own,  who  would  be  a 
passenger  ;  and  that  she  must  not  think  of  renouncing 
an  immense  fortune,  on  account  of  being  separated  from 
her  daugliter  a-  few  years.  "  Your  aunt,"  he  added, 
*'  cannot  live  more  tiuu-i  two  years  ;  of  this  [  am  as- 
sured by  her  friends.  Think  of  it  seriously.  Fortune 
does  not  vi.>it  us  every  day.  Consult  your  friends . 
Every  person  of  good  sense  will  be  of  my  opinion." 
She  answered,  that  desiring  no  other  happiness  hence- 
forth in  the  world  than  that  of  her  daughter,  she  would 
leave  her  departure  for  France  entirel^^  to  her  own  in- 
clination. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  was  not  sorry  to  find  an  op- 
portunity of  separating  Paul  and  Virginia  for  a  short 
time,  and  provide  by  this  means  for  their  mutual  feli- 
city at  a  future  period.  She  took  her  daughter  aside, 
and,  said  to  her,  "  My  dear  child,  our  servants  are 
now  old.  Paul  is  still  very  young.  Margaret  is  advanc- 
ed in  years,  and  I  am  already  infirm.  If  I  should 
die,  what  will  become  of  you,  without  fortune,  in  the 
midst  of  these  desarts  ?  You  will  then  be  left  alone, 
ivithout  any  person  who  can  afford  you  much  succor, 
and  forced  to    labor  witliout  ceasing,  in  order  to  sup- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  55 

port  your  wetched  existence.  This  idea  fills  my  soul 
with  sorrow."  Virginia  answered,  "  God  has  appoint- 
ed us  to  labor.  You  have  taught  me  to  labor,  and  to 
bless  him  every  day.  He  never  has  forsaken  us,  he 
never  will  forsake  us.  His  providence  peculiarly  watches 
over  the  unfortunate.  You  have  told  me  this  often, 
my  dear  mother  !  I  cannot  resolve  to  leave  you." 
Madame  de  la  Tour  replied  with  much  emotion,  "  I 
have  no  other  aim  than  to  render  you  happy,  and  to 
marry  you  one  day  to  Paul,  who  is  not  your  brother. 
Reflect  at  present  that  his  fortune  depends  upon  you." 

A  YOUNG  girl  who  loves,  believes  that  all  the 
■world  is  ignorant  of  her  passion  ;  she  throws  over  her 
eyes  the  veil  which  she  has  thrown  over  her  heart  :  but 
when  it  is  lifted  up  by  some  cherishing  hand,  the  secret 
inquietudes  of  passion  suddenly  burst  their  bounds, 
and  the  soothing  overflowings  of  confidence  succeed 
that  reserve  and  mystery  with  which  the  oppressed 
heart  had  enveloped  its  feelings.  Virginia,  deeply  af- 
fected by  this  new  proof  of  her  mother's  tenderness, 
related  to  her  how  cruel  had  been  those  struggles  which 
Heaven  alone  had  witnessed  ;  declared  that  she  saw  the 
succor  of  Providence  in  that  of  an  affectionate  mother, 
who  approved  of  her  attachment,  and  would  guide  her 
by  her  counsels  ;  that  being  now  strengthened  by  such 
support,  every  consideration  led  her  to  remain  with  her 
H 


8Q  PAUL  AND  VIRGINU. 

mother,  without  anxiety   for  the  present,  and  without 
apprehension  for  the  future. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  perceiving  that  tliis  confi-- 
dential  conversation  had  produced  an  effect  altogetlier 
different  from  that  wiiicli  she  expected,  said,  '*  My 
dear  child,  I  will  not  any  more  constrain  your  inclina- 
tion :  deliberate  at  leisure,  but  conceal  your  feelings 
from  Paul." 

Towards  evening,  when  Madame  de  la  Tour 
and  Virginia  uere  again  together,  their  confessor,  who 
was  a  missionary  in  the  island,  entered  the  room,  hav- 
ing been  sent  by  the  governor.  "  My  children,"  he 
exclaimed  as  he  entered,  "  God  be  praised  !  you  are 
now  rich.  You  can  now  listen  to  the  kind  suggestions 
of  your  excellent  hearts,  and  do  good  to  the  poor. 
I  know  what  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdoimais  has  said  to 
you,  and  what  you  have  answered.  Your  health,  dear 
Madam,  obliges  you  to  remain  here;  but  you,  young 
lady,  are  without  excuse.  We  must  obey  the  will  of 
Providence  ;  and  we  must  also  obey  our  aged  relations, 
even  when  they  are  unjust.  A  sacrifice  is  required  of 
you  ;  but  it  is  the  order  of  God.  He  devoted  himself 
for  you  ;  and  you,  in  imitation  of  his  example,  must 
devote  yourself  for  the  welfare  of  your  family.  Your 
voyage  to  France  will  have  a  happy  termination.  You 
will  surely  conseat  to  go,  my  dear  young  lady  ?" 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  95 

been  reared  upon  your  knees  ;  we  have  learnt  of  you  to 
love  each  other  ;  we  have  said  so  a  thousand  times  ;  and 
now  you  would  separate  lier  from  me  !  You  send  lier 
to  Europe,  tliat  barbarous  country  which  refused  you  an 
asylum,  and  to  relations  by  whom  you  were  abandoned. 
You  will  tell  me  that  I  Iiave  no  rigiits  over  her,  and 
that  she  is  not  my  sister.  She  is  every  thing  to  me, 
riches,  birth,  family,  my  sole  good  !  I  know  no  otiier. 
We  have  had  but  one  roof,  one  cradle,  and  we  will 
have  but  one  grave.  If  she  goes,  I  will  follow  her. 
The  governor  will  prevent  me  ?  Will  he  prevent  me 
from  flinging  myself  into  the  sea  ?  Will  he  prevent  me 
from  following  her  by  swimming  ?  the  sea  cannot  be 
more  fatal  to  me  than  the  land.  Since  I  cannot  live 
with  her,  at  least  I  will  die  before  her  eyes  ;  far  from 
you,  inhuman  mother  !  woman  without  coni])assion  ! 
May  the  ocean,  to  which  you  trust  her,  restore  her  to 
you  no  more  !  May  the  waves,  rolling  back  our  corpse 
amidst  the  stones  of  the  beach,  give  you  in  the  loss  of 
your  two  children  an  eternal  subject  of  remorse." 

At  these  words  I  seized  him  in  my  arms,  for  de- 
spair had  deprived  him  of  reason.  His  eyes  flashed 
fire,  big  drops  of  sweat  hung  upon  his  face,  his  knees 
trembled,  and  I  felt  his  heart  beat  violently  against 
his  burning  bosom.  * 

Virginia,  affrighted,    said  to   him,  "Oh,    my 


96  TAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

friend,  I  call  to  witness  the  pleasures  of  our  early  age, 
your  sorrow  and  my  own,  and  every  thing  that  can  for 
ever  bind  two  unfortunate  beings  to  each  other,  that  if  I 
remain,  I  will  live  but  for  you  ;  that  if  I  go,  I  will  one 
day  return  to  be  yours.  I  call  you  all  to  witness,  you 
■who  have  reared  my  infancy,  who  dispose  of  my  life, 
who  see  my  tears.  I  swear  by  that  Heaven  which  hears 
me,  by  the  sea  which  I  am  going  to  pass,  by  the  air  I 
breathe,  and    which   I  never   sullied  by  a  falshood." 

As  the  sun  softens  and  dissolves  an  icy  rock  upon 
the  summit  of  the  Appennines,  so  the  impetuous  pas- 
sions of  the  young  man  were  subdued  by  the  voice  of 
her  he  loved.  He  bent  his  head,  and  a  flood  of  tears 
fell  from  his  eyes.  His  mother,  mingling  her  tears  with 
his,  held  him  in  lier  arms,  but  was  unable  to  speak. 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  half  distracted,  said  to  me,  "  I 
can  bear  this  no  longer.  My  heart  is  broken.  Tins  un- 
fortunate voyage  shall  not  take  place.  Do  take  my  son 
home  with  you.  It  is  eight  days  since  any  one  here 
has  slept." 

I  SAID  to  Paul,  "  My  dear  friend,  your  sister  will 
remain.  To-morrow-  we  will  speak  to  the  governor  ; 
leave  your  family  to  take  some  rest,  and  come  and 
pass  the  night  with  me." 

He    suffered  himself  to  be  led  away  in  silence  ; 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  gy 

and,  after  a  night  of  great  agitation,  he  arose  at  break 
of  day,  and  returned  home. 

But  why  should  I  continue  any  longer  the  recital 
of  this  history  ?  There  is  never  but  one  aspect  of  human 
life  wliich  we  can  contemplate  with  p'easure.  Like  the 
globe  upon  wliich  \vc  revolve,  our  fleeting  course  is  but  a 
day  :  and  if  one  part  of  that  day  be  visited  by  light,  the 
other  is  thrown  into  dark  ness. 

"  Father,"  I  answered,  "  finish,  I  conjure  you, 
the  history  which  you  have  begun  in  a  manner  so  interest- 
ing. If  the  iniages  of  happiness  are  most  pleasing, 
those  of  misfortune  are  more  instructive.  Tdl  me  what 
became  of  the  unhappy  young  man." 

The  first  object  wliich  Paul  belield  in  his  way  home 
was  Mary,  who  mounted  upon  a  rock,  was  earnestly 
looking  towards  the  sea.  As  soon  as  he  perceived  her, 
he  called  to  her  from  a  distance,  "  Where  is  Virginia  ?" 
Mary  turned  her  head  towards  iier  young  master,  and 
began  to  weep.  Paul,  rlistracted,  and  treading  back  his 
steps,  ran  to  the  harbor.  He  was  there  informed,  that 
Virginia  had  embarked  at  break  of  day,  tliat  the  vessel 
had  immediately  set  sail,  and  could  no  longer  be  discern- 
ed. He  instantly  returned  to  the  plantation,  which  ht 
crossed  without  uttering  a  word. 


98  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Although  the  pile  of  rocks  behind  us  appears 
almost  perpendicular,  those  green  platforms  which  se- 
parate their  summits  are  so  many  stages,  by  means  of 
which  you  may  reach,  through  some  difficult  paths,  that 
cone  of  hanging  and  inaccessible  rocks  called  the  Thumb. 
At  the  foot  of  that  cone  is  a  stretching  slope  of  ground, 
covered  with  lofty  trees,  and  which  is  so  high  and  steep, 
that  it  appears  like  a  forest  in  air,  surrounded  by  tremen- 
dous precipices.  The  clouds,  which  are  attracted  round 
the  summit  of  those  rocks,  supply  innumerable  rivu- 
lets, which  rusii  from  so  immense  a  height  into  that 
deep  valley  situated  behind  the  mountain,  that  from  this 
elevated  point  we  do  not  hear  the  sound  of  their  fall. 
On  tliat  spot  you  can  discern  a  considerable  part  of  the 
island  with  its  precipices  crowned  with  their  majestic 
peaks  ;  and,  amongst  others,  Peterbath,  and  the  Three 
Peaks,  with  their  valley  filled  with  woods.  You  also 
command  an  extensive  view  of  the  ocean,  and  even  per- 
ceive the  Isle  of  Bourbon,  forty  leagues  towards  the 
west.  From  the  summit  of  that  stupendous  pile  of  rocks 
Paul  gazed  upon  the  vessel  which  had  borne  away  Xir- 
ginia,  and  which  now,  ten  leagues  out  at  sea,  appeared 
like  a  black  spot  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean.  He  remain- 
ed a  great  part  of  the  day  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  this 
object:  when  it  had  disappeared,  he  still  fancied  he  be- 
held it  :  and  when,  at  length,  the  traces  which  clung 
to  his  imagination  were  lost  amidst  the  gathering  mists  of 
the  horizon,  he  seated  himself  on  that  wild  point,  for 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  99 

ever  beaten  by  the  winds,  which  never  cease  to  agitate 
the  tops  of  the  cabbage  and  gum-trees,  and  the  hoarse 
and  moaning  murmurs  of  which,  similar  to  the  distant 
sounds  of  organs,  inspire  a  deep  melancholy.  On  that 
spot  I  found  Paul,  with  his  head  reclined  on  the  rock, 
and  his  eyes  fi>ted  upon  the  ground.  I  had  followed  him 
since  break  of  day,  and,  after  much  importunity,  I  pre- 
vailed with  him  to  descend  from  the  heights,  and  return 
to  his  family,  I  conducted  him  to  the  plantation,  where 
the  first  impulse  of  his  mind,  upon  seeing  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  was  to  reproach  her  bitterly  for  having  deceived 
him.  Madame  de  la  Tour  told  us,  that  a  favorable 
•wind  having  arose  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
the  vessel  being  ready  to  set  sail,  the  governor,  attended 
by  his  general  officers,  and  the  missionary,  had  come 
NVith  a  palanquin  in  search  of  Virginia,  and  that,  not- 
vrtthstamling  her  own  objections,  her  tears,  and  those  of 
Margaret,  all  the  while  exclaiming  that  it  was  for  the 
general  welfare,  they  had  carried  away  \'irginia  almost 
dying.  "  At  least,"  cried  Paul,  "  If  I  had  bid  her 
farewel,  I  should  now  be  more  calm,  I  would  have  said 
to  her,  '  Virginia,  if,  during  the  time  we  have  lived  to- 
gether, one  word  may  iiave  escaped  me  which  lias  of- 
fended you,  before  you  leave  me  for  ever,  tell  me  that 
you  forgive  me.'  I  would  have  said  to  her,  '  Since  I  am 
destined  to  see  you  no  more,  farewel,  my  dear  Virginia, 
farewel  !  Live  far  from  me,  contented  and  happy  !" 


100  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

When  he  saw  that  liis  mother  and  Madame  de  la 
Tour  were  weeping,  "  You  must  now,"  said  he,  "  seek 
some  other  tiian  me  to  wipe  away  your  tears:"  and 
then  rushing  out  of  the  house,  he  wandered  up  and 
down  the  plantation.  He  flew  eagerly  to  those  spots 
■which  had  been  most  dear  to  Virginia.  He  said  to  the 
goats  and  their  kids,  who  followed  him  bleating,  "  What 
do  you  ask  of  me?  You  will  see  her  no  more  who  used 
to  feed  you  with  her  own  hand."  He  went  to  the  bow- 
er called  the  Repose  of  Virginia  ;  and,  as  the  birds  fleMf 
around  iiim,  exclaimed,  "  Poor  little  birds  !  you  will 
fly  no  more  to  meet  her  who  cherished  you  !"  and  observ- 
ing Fidèle  running  backwards  and  forwards  in  search  of 
her,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  cried,  "  Ah  !  you  will 
never  find  her  again."  At  length  he  went  and  seated  him- 
self u))on  the  rock  where  he  had  conversed  with  her  the 
preceding  evening  ;  and  at  the  view  of  tlie  ocean,  upon 
wliich  he  had  seen  the  vessel  disappear  which  bore  her 
a\vay,  he  wept  bitterly. 

We  continually  watched  his  steps,  apprehending 
some  fatal  con'equence  from  the  violent  agitation  of  his 
mind.  His  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  conjured 
him  in  the  most  tender  manner  not  to  increase  their  af- 
fliction by  his  despair.  At  length  Madame  de  la  Tour 
soothed  his  mind  by  lavishing  upon  him  such  epithets, 
as  were  best  calculated  to  revive  his  hopes.  She  calle4 
him  her  son,  her  dear  son,  whom  she  destined  for  her 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  jq^ 

daughter.  She  prevailed  with  him  to  return  to  the 
house,  and  receive  a  Httle  nourishment.  He  seated  him- 
self with  us  at  table,  next  to  the  place  whicii  used  to  be 
occupied  by  the  companion  of  his  childhood,  and,  as  if 
she  had  still  been  present,  he  spoke  to  her,  and  offered 
whatever' he  knew  was  most  agreeable  to  her  taste  ;  and 
then  starting  from  his  dream  of  fancy,  lie  began  to  weep. 
For  some  days  he  employed  himself  in  gathering  to- 
gether every  thing  which  had  belonged  to  Virginia  ; 
the  last  nosegays  she  had  worn,  the  cocoa-shell  iu 
•which  she  used  to  drink  ;  and  after  kissing  a  thousand 
times  those  relics  of  his  friend,  to  him  the  most  precious 
treasures  which  the  world  contained,  he  hid  them  in  his 
bosom.  The  spreading  perfumes  of  the  amber  are  not 
so  sweet  as  the  objects  which  have  belonged  to  those  we 
love.  At  length,  perceiving  that  his  anguish  increased 
that  of  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour,  and  that 
the  wants  of  the  family  required  continual  labor,  he  oe- 
gan,  with  the   assistance   of  Domingo,  to    rep^iy   th^ 

r 

garden. 

Soon  after' this  young  man,  till  now  indifferent  as 
a  créole  with  respect  to  what  was  passing  in  the  world, 
desired  I  would  teach  him  to  read  and  write,  that  he 
might  carry  on  a  correspondence  with  Virginia.  He 
then  wished  to  be  instructed  in  geography,  in  order 
that  he  might  form  a  just  idea  of  the  country  where  she 
had  disembarked  ;  and  in  history,  that  he  might  kuovr 
1  2 


102  1*AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

the  manners  of  tlie  society  in  which  she  was  placed. 
The  powerful  sentiment  of  love,  which  directed  his  pre- 
sent studies,  had  already  taught  him  the  arts  of  agricul- 
ture, and  the  manner  of  laying  out  the  most  irregular 
grounds  with  advantage  and  beauty.  It  must  be  admit- 
ted, tliat  to  the  fond  dreams  of  this  restless  and  ardent 
passion,  mankind  are  indebted  fora  great  number  of  arts 
and  sciences,  while  its  disappointments  have  given  birth 
to  philosophy,  which  teaches  us  to  bear  the  evils  of  life 
■with  resignation.  Thus,  nature  having  made  love  the 
general  link  which  binds  all  beings,  has  rendered  it  the 
first  spring  of  society,  the  first  incitement  to  knowledge 
as  well  as  pleasure. 

Paul  found  little  satisfaction  in  the  study  of  geo- 
graphy, which,  instead  of  describing  the  natural  history 
of  each  country,  only  gave  a  view  of  its  political  boun- 
daries. History,  and  especially  modern  history,  inte- 
rested him  little  more.  He  there  saw  only  general  and 
periodical  evils,  of  which  he  did  not  discern  the  cause  ; 
wars  for  which  there  was  no  reason  and  no  object  ;  na- 
tions without  principle,  and  princes  without  humanity. 
He  preferred  the  reading  of  romances,  which  being  fil- 
led with  the  particular  feelings  and  interests  of  men,  re- 
presented situations  similar  to  his  own.  No  book  gave 
jhim  so  much  pleasure  as  Telemachus,  from  the  pictures 
which  it  draws  of  pastoral  life,  and  of  those  passions 
\kluch  are  natural  to  tlie  human  heart.    He  read  aloud 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  103 

to  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  those  parts  whicli 
atTccted  him  most  sensibly,  when  sometimes  touched  by 
the  most  tender  remembrances,  his  emotion  choaked 
his  utterance,  and  his  eyes  were  batiied  in  tears.  He 
fancied  he  had  found  in  \'irginia  the  wisdom  of  Antiope, 
•with  the  misfortunes  and  the  tenderness  of  Eucharis. 
With  very  ditïerent  sensations  he  perused  our  fashionable 
novels,  filled  with  licentious  maxims  and  manners. 
And  when  he  was  informed  that  those  romances  drew 
a  just  picture  of  European  society,  he  trembled,  not 
without  reason,  lest  Virginia  should  become  corrupted, 
and  should  forget  him. 

More  than  a  year  and  a  half  had  iudeed  passed 
away,  before  Madame  de  la  Tour  received  any  tidings 
of  her  daughter.  During  that  period  she  had  only  acci- 
dentally heard  tliat  Virginia  liad  arrived  safely  in  France. 
At  length  a  vessel,  which  stopped  in  its  way  to  the 
Indies,  conveyed  to  Madame  de  la  Tour  a  packet,  and 
a  letter  written  with  her  own  hand.  Although  this  amia- 
ble young  woman  had  written  in  a  guarded  manner, 
in  order  to  avoid  wounding  the  feelings  of  a  mother,  it 
•was  easy  to  discern  she  was  unhappy.  Her  letter  points 
so  naturally  her  situation  and  her  character,  that  1  have 
retained  it  almost  word  for  word. 

.'» 

"  My  dear  and  most  beloved  mother,  I  have  al- 
ready sent  you  several  letters,    written  ■  with  my  owh 


1Ô4  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

hand,  but  having  received  no  answer,  I  fear  they  have 
not  reached  you.  I  have  better  hopes  for  tiiis,  from  the 
means  I  have  now  take»  of  sending  you  tidings  of  my- 
self, and  of  hearing  from  you.  I  have  slied  many  teare 
since  our  separation  ;  I,  wlio  never  used  to  weep,  but 
for  the  misfortunes  of  others!  My  aunt  was  much  asto- 
nished, vi'hen,  having,  upon  my  arrival,  inquired  what 
accompUshments  I  possessed,  I  told  her  tliat  I  could 
neither  read  nor  write.  She  asked  me  what  then  I  had 
learnt  since  I  came  into  the  world  ;  and,  when  I  an- 
swered that  I  had  been  taught  to  take  care  of  the  house- 
hold affairs,  and  obey  your  will,  she  told  me,  that  I  had 
received  the  education  of  a  servant.  The  next  day  she 
placed  me  as  a  Jjoarder  in  a  great  abbey  near  Paris, 
where  I  have  masters  of  all  kinds,  who  teach  me> 
among  other  things,  history,  geography,,  grammar, 
mathematics,  and  riding.  But  I  have  so  little  capacity 
for  all  those  sciences,  that  I  make  but  small  progress 
with  my  masters. 

"  Mv  aunt's  kindness,  however,  does  not  abate 
towards  me.  She  gives  me  new  dresses  for  each  season  ; 
and  she  has  placed  two  waiting-women  with  me,  who 
are  both  dressed  like  fine  ladies.  She  has  made  me 
'take  the  title  of  countess  ;  but  has  obliged  me  to  re- 
nounce the  name  of  La  Tour,  which  is  as  dear  to  me  as 
it  is  to  you,  from  all  you  have  told  me  of  the  sufferings 
my  father  endured  in  order  to  marry  you.    She  has  re- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  jQj 

placed  your  name  by  that  of  your  family,  which  is  also 
dear  to  me,  because  it  was  your  name  when  a  girl.  See- 
ing myself  in  so  splendid  a  situation,  I  implored  her  to 
let  me  send  you  some  assistance.  But  how  shall  I  re- 
peat her  answer  ?  Yet  you  have  desired  me  always  to 
tell  you  the  truth.  She  told  me  then,  that  a  little  would 
be  of  no  use  to  you,  and  that  a  great  deal  would  only 
encumber  you  in  the  simple  life  you  led. 

"  I  ENDEAVORED,  upon  my  arrival,  to  send 
you  tidings  of  myself  by  another  hand  ;  but  finding  no 
person  here  in  whom  I  could  place  confidence,  I  applied 
night  and  day  to  reading  and  writing  ;  and  Hea- 
ven, who  saw  my  motive  for  learnings  no  doubt  assisted 
my  endeavors  ;  for  I  acquired  both  in  a  short  time.  I 
entrusted  my  first  letters  to  some  of  the  ladies  here,  who 
I  have  reason  to  think  carried  them  to  my  aunt.  This 
time  I  have  had  recourse  to  a  boarder,  who  is  my  friend. 
I  send  vou  her  direction,  by  means  of  whicJi  I  shall  re- 
ceive  your  answer.  My  aunt  has  fori)id  mt'holding  any 
correspondence  wiiatever,  which  might,  she  says,  be- 
come an  obstacle  to  the  great  views  she  lias  for  my  ad- 
vantage. No  person  is  allowed  to  see  me  at  the  grate 
but  herself,  and  an  old  nobleman,  oiie  of  her  friends, 
who,  she  says,  is  m  uch  pleased  with  me.  I  am  sure  I 
am  not  at  all  so  with  him;  nor  should  I,  even  if  it  wore 
possible  for  me  to  be  pleased  with  any  one  at  present. 


106  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

I  LIVE  in  the  midst  of  affluence,  and  have  not  a 
livre  at  my  disposal.  Tiiey  say  I  might  make  an  im- 
proper use  of  money.  Even  my  clotlies  belong  to  my 
waiting-women,  who  quarrel  about  them  before  I  have 
left  them  off.  In  tlie  bosom  of  riches,  I  am  poorer  than 
when  I  lived  with  you  ;  for  I  have  nothing  to  give. 
When  I  found  that  the  great  accomplishments  they 
taught  me  would  not  procure  me  the  power  of  doing 
the  smallest  good,  I  had  recourse  to  my  needle,  of 
tvhich  happily  you  had  learnt  me  the  use.  I  send  se> 
veral  pair  of  stockings  of  my  own  making  for  you  and 
my  mamma  Margaret,  a  cap  for  DoTningo,  and  one  of 
my  red  handkerchiefs  for  Mary.  I  also  send  with  this 
packet  some  keroels,  and  seeds  of  various  kinds  of 
iVnit,  which  I  gathered  in  the  fields.  There  are  much' 
more  beautiful  flowers  in  the  meadows  of  this  coun- 
t)-y  than  in  ours,  but  nobody  carf^s  for  them.  I  am  surd 
that  you  and  my  mamma  Margaret  will  be  better  pleas- 
ed witli  this  bag  of  seeds,  than  you  were  witlr  the  bag 
of  piasters,  which  was  the  cause  of  our  separation,  and 
of  my  tears.  It  will  give  me  great  delight  if  you 
should  one  day  see  apple-trees  growing  at  the  side  of  the 
plantain,  and  elms  bending  their  foliage  with  our  cocoa- 
trees.  You  will  fancy  yourself  in  Normandy,  which 
you  love  so  much. 

"  You  desired  me  to  relate  to  you  my  joys  and 
my  griefs.    I  have  no  joys  far  from  you.    As  for  my 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  jq? 

griefs,  1  endeavor  to  soothe  them  by  reflecting,  that  I  ani 
in  the  situation  in  which  you  placed  me  by  the  will  of 
God.  But  my  greatest  affliction  is,  that  no  one  here 
speaks  to  me  of  you,  and  that  I  must  speak  of  you  to 
no  one.  My  waiting-women,  or  rather  those  of  my 
aunt,  for  they  belong  more  to  her  than  to  me,  told  me 
the  other  day,  when  I  wished  to  turn  the  conversation 
upon  the  objects  most  dear  to  me,  'Remember,  Ma- 
dam, that  you  are  a  French  woman,  and  must  forget 
that  country  of  savages.'  AIi  !  sooner  will  I  forget  my- 
self than  furget  the  spo!:  on  whicii  I  was  born,  and 
which  you  inhabit!  It  is  this  country  which  is  to  me 
a  land  of  savages  ;  for  I  live  alcne,  having  no  one  to 
whom  I  can  impart  those  feelings  of  tenderness  for  you 
which  I  shall  bear  with  me  to  the  grave. 
"  I  am, 
"  My  dearest  and  beloved  mother, 
"  Your  affectionate, 

"  And  dutiful  daughter, 

"   VIRGINIA    DE    LA    TOUR." 

"  I  RECOMMEND  to  your  goodncss  Mary  and 
Domingo,  who  took  so  much  care  of  my  infancy.  Ca- 
ress Fidèle  for  me,  who  found  me  in  the  wood." 

Paul  was  astonished  that  Virginia  iiad  not  said 
one  word  of  him,  she,  who  had  not  forgotten  even 
the  house-dog.    But  Paul  was  not  aware  that,  however 


108  I'AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

long  may  be  a  woman's  letter,  she  always  puts  the  senti- 
ments most  dear  to   her  at  the  end. 

In  a  postscript,  Virginia  recommended  particularly 
to  Paul's  care  two  kinds  of  seed,  those  of  the  violet 
and  the  scabious.  She  gave  him  some  instructions  upon 
tlie  nature  of  those  plants,  and  the  spots  most  proper 
for  their  cultivation.  "  The  first,"  she  said  "produces 
a  little  flower  of  a  deep  violet,  which  loves  to  hide  itself 
beneath  the  bushes,  but  it  is  soon  discovered  by  its  de- 
lightful odors.'*  She  desired  those  seeds  might  be 
sown  along  the  borders  of  the  fountain,  at  the  foot  of  her 
cocoa-tree.  "  The  scabious,"  she  added,  ''  produces  a 
beautiful  flower  of  a  pale  blue,  and  a  black  ground  spot- 
ted with  white.  You  might  fancy  it  was  in  mourning; 
and  for  this  reason  it  is  called  the  widow's  flower.  It 
delights  in  bleak  spots  beaten  by  the  wind."  She  beg- 
ged this  might  be  sown  upon  the  rock  where  she  had 
spoken  to  him  for  the  last  time;  and  that  for  her  sake 
he  would  henceforth  give  it  the  name  of  the  farewell 
rock. 

She  had  put  those  seeds  into  a  little  purse,  the 
tissue  of'  which  was  extremely  simple  ;  but  which  ap- 
peared above  all  price  to  Paul,  when  he  perceived  a  P. 
andaV.  intertwined  together,  and  knew  that  the  beau- 
tiful hair  which  formed  the  cypher  was  the  hair  of 
Virginia. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


109 


The  whole  family  listened  with  tears  to  the  letter 
of  that  amiable  and  virtuous  young  woman.  Her  mother 
answered  it  in  the  name  of  the  little  society,  and  desired 
her  to  remain  or  return  as  she  thought  proper  ;  assuring 
her,  that  happiness  had  lied  Aom  their  dwelling  since  her 
departure,  and  that  as  for  herself  the  was  inconsolable. 

Paul  also  sent  her  a  long  letter,  in  which  lie  as- 
sured her  that  he  would  arrange  the  garden  in  a  man- 
ner agreeable  to  her  taste,  and  blend  the  plants  of  Eu- 
rope with  those  of  Africa.  He  sent  her  some  fruit  culled 
from  the  cocoa-trees  of  the  fountain,  which  were  now  ar- 
rived at  maturity  ;  telling  her  that  he  would  not  add 
any  more  of  the  other  seeds  of  tlie  island,  that  the  de- 
sire of  seeing  those  productions  again  miglit  hasten  her 
return.  He  conjured  her  to  comply  williout  delay  witli 
the  ardent  wishes  of  her  family,  and  above  all,  with  his 
own,  since  he  was  unable  to  endure  the  pain  of  their 
separation. 

With  a  careful  hand  Paul  sowed  the  European 
seeds,  particularly  the  violet  and  the  scabious,  the  flow- 
ers of  which  seemed  to  bear  some  analogy  to  the'charac- 
ter  and  situation  of  Virginia,  by  whom  they  Iwd  been 
recommended  :  but  whether  they  were  injured  by  the 
voyage,  or  whether  the  soil  of  this  part  of  Africa  is  un- 
favorable to  their  growth,  a  very  small  number  of  thera 
blew,  and  none  came  to  perfection. 
K 


110  PAUL  A>JD  VIRGINIA. 

Meanwhile  that  envy  which  pursues  human 
happiness,  spread  reports  over  the  island  which  gave 
great  uneasiness  to  Paul.  The  persons  who  brought  Vir- 
giuia's  letter,  asserted  that  she  was  upon  the  point  of 
being  married,  and  named  the  nobleman  of  the  court 
with  whom  she  was  going  to  be  united.  Some  even 
declared  that  she  was  already  married,  of  which  tiiey 
were  witnesses.  Paul  at  first  despised  this  report, 
brought  by  one  of  those  trading  slups,  which  often 
spread  erroneous  intelligence  in  their  passage  ;  but  some 
ill-natured  persons,  by  their  insulting  pity,  led  him  to 
give  some  degree  of  credit  to  this  cruel  intelligence. 
Besides,  he  had  seen  in  the  novels  which  he  had  lately 
read,  that  perfidy  was  treated  as  a  subject  of  pleasantry  ; 
and  knowing  that  those  books  were  faithful  representa- 
tions of  European  manners,  he  feared  that  the  heart  of 
Virginia  was  corrupted,  and  had  forgotten  its  former  en- 
gagements. Thus  his  acquirements  only  served  to  ren- 
der him  miserable  :  and  what  increased  his  apprehen- 
sions was,  that  several  ships  arrived  from  Europe,  during 
the  space  of  si.x  months,  and  not  one  brought  any 
tidings  of  Virginia. 

This  unfortunate  young  man,  with  a  heart  torn 
by  the  most  cruel  agitation,  came  often  to  visit  me, 
that  I  might  confirm  or  banish  his  inquietude,  by  my 

experience  of  the  worid. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  y  1 1 

I  i-iVE,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  a  league 
and  a  lialf  from  hence,  upon  the  banks  of  a  little  river 
which  glides  along  llie  Sloping  Mountain;  liiere  I  lead 
a  solitary   life,  witliout  wife,  children,  or  slaves. 

After  having  enjoyed  and  lost  the  rare  felicity 
of  living  whh  a  congenial  mind,  the  state  of  life  \vhicj| 
appears  the  least  wretched  is  that  of  solitude.  It  is  re- 
markable that  all  those  nations  which  have  been  ren- 
dered unhappy  by  their  political  opinions,  their  man- 
ners, or  their  forms  of  government,  have  produced 
numerous  claries  of  citizens  altogether  devoted  to  soli- 
tude and  celibacy.  Such  were  the  Egyptians  in  their 
decline,  the  Greeks  of  the  lower  empire  ;  and  such  in 
our  days  are  the  Indians,  the  Chinese,  the  modern 
Greeks,  the  Italians,  and  most  part  of  the  eastern  and 
southern  nations  of  Europe. 

l  Hus  I  pass  my  days  far  from  mankind,  whom  I 
wished  to  serve,  and  by  whom  I  have  been  persecuted. 
After  havmg  travelled  over  many  countries  of  Europe, 
and  some  parts  of  America  and  Africa,  1  at  length  pitch- 
ed my  tent  in  this  thinly  peopled  island,  allured  by 
its  mild  temperature  and  its  solitude.  A  cottage  wliich 
I  built  in  the  woods,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  a  little  field, 
which  I  cultivated  with  my  own  hands,  a  river  which 
glides  before  my  door,  suffice  for  my  wants  and  for  my 
pleasures.    I  blend  with  those  enjoyments  that  of  som« 


1 1^  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

chosen  books,  whicli  teacli  me  to  become  better.  They 
make  that  world,  which  I  have  abandoned,  still  contri- 
bute to  my  satisfaction.  They  place  before  nie  pictures 
of  those  passions  which  render  its  inhabitants  so  misera- 
ble; and  the  comparison  which  I  make  between  their 
destiny  and  my  own,  leads  me  to  feel  a  sort  of  nega- 
tive happiness.  Like  a  man,  whom  shipwreck  has 
thrown  upon  a  rock,  I  contemplate,  from  my  solitude, 
the  storms  which  roll  over  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  and 
my  repose  seems  more  profound  from  the  distant  sounds 
of  the  tempest. 

I  SUFFER  myself  to  be  led  calmly  down  the 
stream  of  time  to  the  ocean  of  futurity,  which  has  no 
boundaries;  while,  in  the  contemplation  of  the  present 
harmony  of  nature,  I  raise  my  soul  towards  its  Suprem« 
Author,  and  hope  for  a  more  happy  destiny  in  another 
state  of  existence. 

Although  you  do  not  descry  my  hermitage, 
•which  is  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  forest,  among  that 
immense  variety  of  objects  which  this  elevated  spot  pre- 
sents, the  grounds  a^e  disposed  with  particular  beauty, 
at  least  to  one  who,  like  me,  loves  rather  the  seclusion 
of  a  home-scene,  than  great  and  extensive  prospects. 
The  river  which  glides  before  my  door  passes  in  a 
straight  line  across  the  woods,  and  appears  like  a  long 
canal  shaded  by   trees  of  all  kinds.    There  are  black 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA,  jjj 

date  plum-trees,  what  we  here  call  the  narrow-leaved 
dodonca,  olive-wood,  gum-trees,  and  the  cinnamon- 
tree;  while  in  some  parts  the  cabbage-trees  raise  their 
naked  columns  more  than  an  hundred  feet  high,  crown- 
ed at  their  summits  with  clustering  leaves,  and  tower- 
ing above  tiie  wood  like  one  forest  piled  upon  another. 
Lianas,  of  various  foliage,  intertwining  among  the 
•woods,  form  arcades  of  flowers,  and  verdant  canopies  : 
tliose  trees,  for  the  most  part,  shed  aromatic  odors  of  a 
nature  so  powerful,  that  the  garments  of  a  traveller, 
\vho  has  passed  through  the  forest,  retain  for  several 
hours  the  delicious  fragrance.  In  tlie  season  when  those 
trees  produce  their  lavish  blossoms,  they  appear  as  if  co- 
vered with  snow.  One  of  the  principal  ornaments  of 
our  woods  is  the  calbassia,  a  tree  not  only  distinguished 
for  its  beautiful  tint  of  verdure,  but  for  other  properties, 
which  Madame  de  la  Tour  has  described  ia  the  follow- 
ing sonnet,  writtcij  at  one  of  her  first  visits  to  my  her- 
mitage. 


K2 


114  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA 


SO  N  N  E  T 

TO  THE  CALBASSIA-TREE. 

Sublime  Calbassia  !  luxuriant  tree  ! 

How  soft  the  gloom  thy  bright-hu'd  foliage  throws, 

While  from  thy  pulp  a  healing  balsam  flows, 

^V]lose  power  the  sulFring  wretch  frona  pain  can  free  ! 

!My  pensive  footsteps  ever  turn  to  thee  ! 

Since  oft,  while  musing  on  my  lasting  woes. 

Beneath  thy  flow'ry  white-bells  I  repose,  <■ 

Symbol  of  friendship  dost  thou  seem  to  me  ; 

For  thus  lias  friendship  cast  her  soothing  shade 

O'er  my  unslielter'd  bosom's  keen  distress  ; 

Thus  sought  to  heal  the  wounds  which  love  has  madcj 

And  temper  bleeding  sorrows  sharp  excess  ! 

Ah  !  not  in  vain  she  lends  her  balmy  aid  ! 

The  aeonies  she  cannot  cure  ai^e  less  ! 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  II5 

Towards  tlie  end  of  summer,  various  kinds  of 
foreign  birds  hasten,  impelled  by  an  inexplicable  in- 
stinct, from  unknown  regions,  and  across  immense 
oceans,  to  gather  the  profuse  grains  of  this  island  ;  and 
tl;e  brilliancy  of  their  expanded  plumage  forms  a  con- 
trast to  the  trees  embrowned  by  the  sun.  Such,  among 
others,  are  various  kinds  of  peroquets,  the  blue  pi- 
geon, called  here  the  pigeon  of  Holland,  and  the  wan- 
dering and  majestic  white  bird  of  the  Tropic,  "which 
Madame  de  la  Tour  thus  apostrophized. 


11g  PAUL  AND  VIRCINU. 


SONNET 

TO  THE  WHITE  BIRD  OF  THE  TROPIC. 

Bird  of  the  Tropic  !  thou,  who  lov'st  to  stray. 
Where  thy  long  pinions  sweep   the  sultry  line. 
Or  mark'st   the  bounds  which  torrid  beams  confine 
By  thy  averted  course,  that  shuns  the  ray 
Oblique,  enamor'd  of  sublimer  day  : 
Oft  on  yon  cliff  thy  folded  plumes  recline. 
And  drop  those  snowy  feathers  Indians  twine 
To  crown  the  warriors  brow  with  honors  gay. 
O'er  trackless  oceans  what  impels  thy  wing? 
Does  not  soft  instinct  in  thy  soul  prevail  ; 
No  sweet  affection  to  thy  bosom  cling. 
And  bid  thee  oft  thy  absent  nest  bewail  ? 
Yet  thou  again  to  that  dear  spot  canst  spring  : 
B»it  I  my  long-lost  home  no  more  shall  bail  '. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  117 

The  domestic  inhabitants  of  our  forests,  monkies, 
sport  upon  the  dark  branches  of  the  trees,  for  which 
they  are  distinguished  by  their  grey  and  greenish  skin, 
and  their  black  visages.  Some  hang  suspended  by  the 
tail,  and  balance  themselves  in  air  ;  others  leap  from 
branch  to  branch,  bearing  their  young  in  their  arms. 
Tlie  murderous  gun  has  never  affrighted  those  peaceful 
children  of  nature.  You  sometimes  hear  the  warbling» 
of  unknown  birds  from  the  soul'.iern  countries,  repeated  at 
a  distance  by  the  echoes  of  the  forest.  The  river,  which 
runs  in  foaming  cataracts  over  a  bed  of  rocks,  reflects 
here  and  there,  upon  its  limpid  waters,  venerable  mas- 
ses of  woody  shade,  together  with  the  sport  of  its  hap- 
py inhabitants.  About  a  thousand  paces  from  thence  the 
river  precipitates  itself  over  several  piles  of  rocks,  and 
forms,  in  its  fall,  a  sheet  of  water  smooth  as  crystal,  but 
which  breaks  at  the  bottom  into  frothy  surges.  Innu- 
merable confused  sounds  is?ue  from  those  tumultuous 
waters,  which,  scattered  by  the  winds  of  the  forest, 
sometimes  sink,  sometimes  swell,  and  send  forth  a  hol- 
low tone  like  the  deep  bells  of  a  cathedral.  The  air, 
for  ever  renewed  by  the  circulation  of  the  waters,  fans 
the  banks  of  that  river  with  freshness,  andJeaves  a  de- 
gree of  verdure,  notwithstanding  the  summer  heats, 
rarely  found  in  tliis  island,  even  upon  tlie  summits  of 
the  mountains. 

At  some  distance  is  a  rock  placetl  far  ctiough  from 


lis  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

the  cascade  to  prevent  tlie  ear  from  beiiîg  drarc-iied  hj 
the  noise  of  its  waters,  and  aufficiently  near  for  the  en- 
joyment of  their  view,  their  coolness,  and  their  murmur». 
Thither,  amidst  the  heats  of  wmmer,  Madame  de  la 
Tour,  Margaret,  Virginia,  Paul,  and  myself,  some- 
times repaired,  and  din^d  beneath  tiie  shadow  of  th« 
rock.  Virginia,  who  always  directed  lier  most  ordinary 
actions  to  the  good  of  others,  never  eat  of  any  fruit 
witiiout  planting  the  seed  or  kernal  in  the  ground. 
"  From  this,"  said  she,  "  trees  will  come,  which  will 
give  their  fruit  to  some  traveller,  or  at  least  to  some 
bird."  One  day,  having  eaten  of  the  papaw-fruit,  at 
the  foot  of  that  rock  she  planted  the  seeds.  Soon  after 
several  papaws  sprung  up,  amongst  which  was  one 
^vhich  yielded  fruit.  This  tree  had  risen  but  a  little 
from  the  ground  at  the  time  of  Virginia's  departure; 
but,  its  growth  being  rapid,  in  the  space  of  two  years 
it  had  gained  twenty  feet  of  height,  and  the  upper 
part  of  its  stem  was  encircled  with  several  layers  of  ripe 
fruit.  Paul,  having  wandered  to  the  spot,  was  delighted 
to  see  that  this  lofty  tree  had  arisen  from  the  small  seed 
planted  by  his  beloved  friend  ;  but  that  emotion  in- 
stantly gave  place  to  deep  melancholy,  at  this  evidence 
of  her  long  absence.  The  objects  which  we  see  habitu- 
ally do  not  remind  us  of  the  rapidity  of  life  ;  they  de- 
cline insensibly  with  ourselves;  but  those  which  we  be- 
hold again,  after  having  for  some  yeai-s  lost  sight  of 
them,  impress  us  powerfully  with  the  idea  of  that  swift- 


PAUL  AND  VITIGINIA.  ng 

ness  with  which  the  tide  of  our  days  flows  on.  Paul 
was  no  less  overwhelmed  and  affected  at  the  sight  of 
this  great  papaw-trce,  loaded  with  fruit,  than  is  the  tra- 
veller, when,  after  a  long  absence  from  his  own  country, 
he  finds  not  his  contemporaries,  but  their  children, 
vhom  lie  left  at  the  breast,  and  whom  he  sees  are  be- 
come fathers  of  families.  Paul  sometimes  thought  of 
hewing  down  the  tree,  wliich  recalled  too  sensibly  the 
distracted  image  of  that  length  of  time  wliich  had  elapsed 
since  the  departure  of  Virginia.  Sometimes,  contem- 
plating it  as  a  monument  of  her  benevolence,  he  kissed 
its  trunk,  and  apostrophized  it  in  terms  of  the  most  pas- 
sionate regret  ;  and,  indeed,  I  have  myself  gazed  upon 
it  with  more  emotion,  and  more  veneration,  than  upon 
the  triumphal  arches  of  Rome. 

At  the  foot  of  this  papaw  I  was  always  sure  to 
meet  with  Paul  when  he  came  into  our  neighborhood. 
One  day,  when  I  found  him  absorbed  in  melancholy,  we 
had  a  conversation,  which  I  will  relate  to  you,  if  I  do 
not  weary  you  by  my  long  digressions  ;  perhaps  pardon- 
able to  my  age  and  my  last  friendships. 

Paul  said  to  me,  "I  am  very  unhappy.  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Tour  has  now  been  gone  two  years  and 
two  months;  and  we  have  heard  no  tidings  of  her  for 
eight  months  and  two  weeks.  She  is  ricli,  and  I  am 
poor.     She  has  forgotten  mc.     I  have  a  great  mind  to 


120  I'AUL  AND  VIRGLNU. 

follow  her.  I  will  go  to  Fiance  ;  I  will  serve  the  king; 
make  a  fortune  ;  and  tiien  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour's 
aunt  will  bestow  her  neice  upon  me  when  I  shall  have 
become  a  great   Lord." 

"  But,  my  dear  friend,"  I  answered,  "  have  yoa 
not  told  me  that  you  are  not  of  noble  bhth?" 

*'  My  mother  has  told  me  so,"  said  Paul.  "  As  for 
myself  I  know  not  what  noble  birth   means." 

"  Obscure  birth,"  I  replied,  "  in  France,  shuts 
out  all  access  to  great  employments  ;  nor  can  you  ever 
be  received  among  any  distinguished  body  of  men." 

"  How  unfortunate  I  am  !"  resumed  Paul  :  "  Every 
thing  repulses  me.  I  am  condemned  to  waste  my 
wretched  life  in  labor,  far  from  Virginia."  And  he 
heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Since  her  relation,"  he  added,  "  will  only  give 
lier  in  marriage  to  some  one  with  a  great  name,  by  the 
aid  of  study  we  become  wise  and  celebrated.  I  will  fly 
then  to  study  ;  I  will  acquire  sciences  :  I  will  serve  my 
country  usefully  by  my  attainments  ;  I  shall  be  indepeur 
dent  ;  I  shall  become  renowned  ;  and  my  glory  wiiyw? 
long  only  to  myself."  * 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  j^i 

"  My  son  !  talents  are  still  more  rare  than  birth 
or  riches,  and  are  undoubtedly  an  inestimable  good,  of 
which  nothing  can  deprive  us,  and  which  every  where 
conciliate  public  esteem.  But  they  cost  dear;  they  are 
generally  allied  to  exquisite  sensibility,  which  renders 
their  possessor  miserable.  But  you  tell  me  that  you 
would  serve  mankind.  He  who,  from  the  soil  which  he 
cultivates,  draws  forth  one  additional  sheaf  of  corn,  serves 
mankind  more  than  he  wiio  presents  them  with  a  book." 

"  Oh  !  she  then,"  exclaimed  Paul,  "  who  planted 
this  papaw-trce,  made  a  present  to  the  inliabitauts  of 
the  forest  more  dear  and  more  useful  than  if  she  had 
given  them  a  library."  And,  seizing  the  tree  in  his  arms, 
he  kissed  it  with  transport. 

"  Ah  !  I  desire  glory  only,"  he  resumed,  "  to 
confer  it  upon  Virginia,  and  render  her  dear  to  the 
whole  universe.  But  you,  who  know  so  much,  tell 
me  if  we  shall  ever  be  married.  I  wish  I  was  at  least 
learned  enough  to  look  into  futurity.  Virginia  must 
come  back.  What  need  has  she  of  a  rich  relation.» 
She  was  so  happy  in  those  huts,  so  beautiful,  and  so 
well  dressed,  witii  a  red  handkerchief  or  flowei"s  round 
her  head  !  Return,  Virginia  !  Leave  your  palaces, 
your  splendor  !  Return  to  these  rocks,  to  the  shade 
of  our  woods  and  our  cocoa-trees  !  Alas  !  you  are,  per- 
haps, unhappy  !"  And  he  began  to  weep.  "  My  fa^ 
L 


122  I'AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

tlier  !  conceal  nothing  from  me.  If  you  cannot  tell  me 
whether  I  shall  marry  Virginia  or  no,  tell  me,  at  least, 
if  she  still  loves  me  amidst  those  great  lords  who  speak 
to  the  king,  and  go  to  see  her." 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  friend,"  I  answered,  "  I  am  sure 
that  she  loves  you  for  several  reasons  ;  but,  above  all, 
because  she  is  virtuous."  At  those  words  he  threw  him- 
self upon  my  neck  in  a  transport  of  joy. 

"  But  what,"  said  he,  "  do  you  understand  by 
\irtue  ?" 

"  My  son  !  to  you  who  support  your  family  by 
your  labor,  it  need  not  be  defined.  >'irtue  is  an  effort 
which  we  make  for  the  good  of  others,  and  with  the  in- 
tention of  pleasing  God." 

Oh  !  how  virtuous  then,"  cried  he,  "  is  Virginia  ! 
Virtue  made  her  seek  for  riches,  that  she  might  practise 
benevolence.  Virtue  led  her  to  forsake  this  island,  and 
\irtue  will  bring  her  hack."  The  idea  of  her  near  re- 
turn fired  his. imagination,  and  his  inquietudes  suddenly 
vanished.  Virginia,  he  was  persuaded,  had  not  written, 
because  she  would  soon  arrive.  It  took  so  little  time  to 
come  from  Europe  with  a  fair  wind  !  Then  he  enume- 
rated the  vessels  which  had  made  a  passage  of  four  thou- 
sand five  hundred  leagues  in  less  than  three   months  ; 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  lO.J 

and  pciliaps  the  vessel  in  which  Virginia  had  embark- 
ed niighl  not  be  longer  than  two.  Siiip-buildeis  were 
now  so  ingenious,  and  sailors  so  expert  !  He  then  told 
me  of  the  arrangeinents  he  would  make  for  her  recep- 
tion, of  tlie  new  habitation  he  would  build  for  her,  of 
the  pleasures  and  surprises  which  each  day  sliou'd  bring 
along  with  it  when  siie  was  his  wife.  His  wife  !  That 
hope  was  ecstacy.  "  At  least,  my  dear  father,"  said 
he,  "  you  shall  then  do  nothing  more  than  you  please. 
^'irginia  being  rich,  we  shall  have  a  number  of  negroes, 
who  will  labor  for  you.  You  shall  always  live  wit'i  us, 
and  have  no  other  care  than  to  amuse  and  rejoice  your- 
self."' And,  his  hearf  throbbing  with  delight,  he  flew  to 
communicate  those  exquisite  sensations  to  his  family. 

In  a  short  time,  however,  the  most  cruel  appre- 
hensions succeeded  those  enchanting  hopes.  Violent 
passions  ever  throw  the  soul  into  opposite  extremes. 
Paul  returned  to  my  dwelling  absorbed  in  melancholy, 
and  said  to  me,  "  I  hear  nothing  from  Virginia.  Had 
she  left  Europe  she  would  have  informed  me  of  her  de- 
parture. Ah!  the  reports  which  I  have  heard  concern- 
hig  her  are  but  too  well  founded.  Her  aunt  has  married 
her  to  some  great  lord.  S!ie,  like  other-,  has  been  un- 
done by  the  love  of  riches.  In  those  books  which  paint 
women  so  well,  virtue  is  but  a  subject  of  romance.  Had 
\'irginia  been  virtuous,  she  would  not  have  forsaken  her 
mother  and  me,  and  while  I  pass  life  in  thinking  of  her. 


124  ^AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

forget  me.  While  I  am  wretched,  she  is  happy.  Ah! 
that  thought  distracts  me  :  labor  becomes  painful,  and 
society  irksome.  Would  to  heaven  that  war  were  declar- 
ed in  India,  I  would  go  there  and  die." 

"  My  son,"  I  answered,  "  that  courage  which 
prompts  us  to  court  death,  is  but  the  courage  of  a  mo- 
ment, and  is  often  excited  by  the  vain  hopes  of  posthu- 
mous fame.  There  is  a  species  of  courage  more  neces- 
sary, and  more  rare,  which  makes  us  support,  without 
witness,  and  without  applause,  the  various  vexations  of 
life  ;  and  that  is  patience.  Leaning  not  upon  the  opi- 
nions of  others,  but  upon  the  will  of  God,  patience  is 
the  courage  of  virtue. 

"  Ah  !"  cried  he,  "  I  am  then  without  virtue 
Every  thing  overwhelms  and  distracts  me." 

"  Equal,  constant,  and  invariable  virtue,"  I  repli- 
ed, "  belongs  not  to  man.  In  the  midst  of  so  many  pas- 
sions, by  which  we  are  agitated,  our  reason  is  disordered 
and  obscured  :  but  there  is  an  ever-burning  lamp,  at 
which  we  can  rekindle  its  flame,  and  that  is  literature. 

*'  Literature,  my  dear  son,  is  the  gift  of  Hea- 
ren  ;  a  ray  of  that  wisdom  which  governs  the  universe  ;  and 
which  man,  inspired  by  celestial  intelligence,  has  drawn 
do'.vn  to  earth.     Like  the  sun,  it  enlightens,  it  rejoices. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  J  35 

it  warms  with  a  divine  flame,  and  seems,  in  some  sort, 
like  the  element  of  fuc,  to  bend  all  nature  to  our  use. 
By  the  aid  of  literature,  we  bring  around  us  all  things, 
all  places,  men,  and  times.  By  its  aid  we  calm  the 
passions,  suppress  vice,  and  excite  virtue.  Literature 
is  the  daughter  of  heaven,  who  has  descended  upon 
earth  to  soften  and  to  charm  all  liuman  evils. 

"  Have  recourse  to  your  books  tiien,  my  son. 
The  sages  wiio  have  written  before  our  days  are  travel- 
lers who  have  preceded  us  in  the  patlis  of  misfortune  ; 
who  stretched  out  a  friendly  hand  towards  us,  and  in- 
vile  us  to  join  their  society,  when  every  thing  else 
abandons  us.     A  good  book  is  a  good  friend  !" 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Paul,  "I  stood  in  no  need  of  books 
when  Virginia  was  here,  and  she  had  studied  as  little  as 
mo  :  but  when  she  looked  at  me,  and  called  me  her 
friend,  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  be  unhappy." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  I,  "  there  is  no  friend 
so  agreeable  as  a  mistress  by  who.ni  we  are  beloved. 
There  is  in  the  gay  graces  of  woman,  a  charm  that  dis- 
pels the  dark  phantoms  of  reflection.  Upon  her  face 
sits  soft  attraction,  and  tender  confidence.  What  joy 
is  not  heightened  in  which  she  sliares  ?  What  brow  is 
not  unbent  by  her  smiles  ?  What  anger  can  resist  Jier 
t«?ars  ?  Virginia  will  return  with  more  phi'osophy  thaji 
l2 


125  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

you,  and  will  be  surprised  not  to  find  the  garden  finish- 
ed ;  she  who  thought  of  its  embellishments  amidst  the 
persecutions  of  her  aunt,  and  far  from  her  mother  and 
from  you." 

The  idea  of  Virginia's  speedy  return  reanimated 
her  lover's  courage,  and  he  resumed  his  pastoral  occupa- 
tions ;  happy  amidst  his  toils,  in  the  reflection  that  they 
would  find  a  termination  so  dear  to  the  wishes  of  his 
heart. 

The  24th  of  December,  1774,  at  break  of  day, 
Paul,  when  he  arose,  perceived  a  white  flag  hoisted  up- 
on the  Mountain  of  Discovery,  which  was  the  signal  of 
a  vessel  descried  at  sea.  He  flew  to  the  town,  in  order 
to  learn  if  this  vessel  brought  any  tidings  of  Virginia, 
and  waited  till  the  return  of  the  pilot,  who  had  gone  as 
usual  to  visit  the  ship.  The  pilot  brought  the  governor 
information  that  the  vessel  was  the  Saint-Geran,  of  se- 
ven hundred  tons,  commanded  by  a  captain  of  the 
name  of  Aubin  ;  that  the  ship  was  now  four  leagues  out 
at  sea,  and  would  anchor  at  Port  Louis  the  following 
afternoon,  if  the  wind  were  favorable:  at  present  there 
was  a  calm.  The  pilot  then  remitted  to  the  governor  a 
number  of  letters  from  France,  amongst  which  was  one 
addressed  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  in  the  hand-writing 
of  Virginia.  Paul  seized  upon  the  letter,  kissed  it  with 
transport,  placed  it  in  his  bosom,  and  flew  to  the  planta- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  137 

tion.  No  sooner  did  he  perceive  from  a  distance  the  fa- 
mily, who  were  waiting  his  return  upon  the  Farexvell 
Rock,  then  he  waved  theletter  in  the  air,  without  having 
the  power  to  speak  ;  and  instantly  the  whole  family 
crowded  round  Madame  de  la  Tour  to  hear  it  read. 
Virginia  informed  her  mother  that  she  had  suffered 
much  ill-treatment  from  her  aunt,  who,  having  in  vaia 
urged  her  to  marry  against  her  inclination,  had  disinhe- 
rited her  ;  and  at  length  sent  her  back  at  such  a  season 
of  the  year,  that  she  must  probably  reach  the  Mauritius 
at  the  period  of  the  hurricanes.  In  vain,  she  added,  she 
had  endeavored  to  soften  her  aunt,  by  representing  what 
she  owed  to  her  mother,  and  to  the  habits  of  her  early 
years  :  she  had  been  treated  as  a  romantic  girl,  whose 
head  was  turned  by  novels.  At  present  she  said  she 
could  think  of  nothing  but  the  transport  of  again  seeing 
and  embracing  her  beloved  family  ;  and  that  she  would 
have  satisfied  this  dearest  wish  of  her  heart  that  very 
day,  if  the  captain  would  have  permitted  her  to  embark 
in  the  pilot's  boat  ;  but  that  he  had  opposed  her  go- 
ing, on  account  of  the  distance  from  the  shore,  and  of  a 
swell  in  the  ocean,  notwithstanding  it  was  a  calm. 

Scarcely  was  the  letter  finished,  when  the 
whole  family,  transported  with  joy,  repeated,  "  Virginia 
is  arrived  !"  and  mistresses  and  servants  embraced  each 
other.  Madame  de  la  lour  said  to  Paul,  "  My  son, 
go  and  inform  our  neiglibor  of  Virginia's  arrival."    Do- 


128  I'AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

mingo  immediately   lighted  a  torch,  and  he  and  Paul 
bent  their  way  towards  my  plantation. 

It  was  about  ten  at  night,  and  I  was  going  to  ex- 
tinguish my  lamp,  when  I  perceived  through  the  Pa- 
lisades of  my  hut  a  light  in  the  woods.  I  arose,  and 
had  just  dressed  myself,  when  Paul,  half  wild,  and 
panting  for  breath,  sprung  on  my  neck,  crying, 
"  Come  along,  come  along.  Mrginia  is  arrived  !  Let 
us  go  to  the  Port  :  The  vessel  will  anchor  at  break  of 
day. 

"We  instantly  set  off.  As  we  were  traversing  the 
woods  of  the  Sloping  Mountain,  and  were  already  on 
the  road  which  leads  from  the  Shaddock  Grove  to  the 
Port,  I  heard  some  one  walking  behind  us.  When  the 
person,  wlio  was  a  negro,  and  who  advanced  with  hasty 
steps,  had  reached  us,  I  enquired  from  whence  became, 
and  whither  he  was  a-going  with  such  expedition.  He 
answered,  "  I  come  from  that  part  of  the  island  called 
Golden  Dust  ;  and  am  sent  to  the  Port,  to  inform  the 
governor,  that  a  ship  from  France  has  anchored  upon  the 
island  of  Amber,  and  fires  guns  of  distress  ;  for  the  seals 
very  stormy."  Having  said  this,  the  man  left  us,  and 
pursued  his  journey. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  I  to  Paul,  "  towards  that 
part  of  the  island,  and  meet  Virginia.    It  is  only  three 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  139 

leagues  from  hence."  Accordingly  we  bent  our  course 
thither.  The  iieat  was  suffocating.  Tiie  moon  iiad 
risen,  and  was  encompassed  by  three  large  black  circles. 
A  dismal  darkness  shrouded  the  sky  ;  but  the  frequent 
flakes  of  lightning  discovered  long  chains  of  thick 
clouds,  gloomy,  low-hung,  and  heaped  together  over 
the  middle  of  the  island,  after  having  rolled  with  great 
rapidity  from  the  ocean,  although  we  felt  not  a  breath 
of  wind  upon  the  land.  As  we  walked  along,  we 
thought  we  heard  peals  of  thunder  ;  but,  after  listen- 
ing more  attentively,  we  found  they  were  the  sound  of 
distant  cannon,  repeated  by  the  echoes.  Those  sounds, 
joined  to  the  tempestuous  aspect  of  the  heavens,  made 
me  shudder.  I  had  little  doubt  that  they  were  signals 
of  distress  from  a  ship  in  danger.  In  half  an  hour  the 
firing  ceased,  and  I  felt  the  silence  more  appalling  than 
the  dismal  sounds  which  iiad  preceded. 

We  hastened  on  without  uttering  a  word,  or  dar- 
ing to  communicate  our  apprehensions.  At  midnight 
we  arrived  on  the  sea-shore  at  that  part  of  the  island. 
The  billows  broke  against  the  beach  with  a  horrible 
noise,  covering  the  rocks  and  the  strand  with  their  foam 
of  a  dazzling  whiteriess,  and  blended  with  sparks  of  fire. 
By  their  phosphoric  gleams  we  distinguished,  notwith- 
Rtanding  the  darkness,  the  canoes  of  the  fishernien> 
Vihich  they  had  drawn  far  upon  the  sand. 


ISO  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Near  the  shore,  at  the  entrance  of  a  wood,  we 
saw  a  fire,  round  which  several  of  tlie  inhabitants  were 
assembled.  1  hither  we  repaired,  in  order  to  repose  our- 
selves till  morning.  One  of  the  circle  related,  that  in 
tlie  afternoon  he  had  seen  a  vessel  driven  towards  the 
kland  by  the  currents  ;  that  the  ni'^ht  had  hid  it  from 
his  view  ;  and  that  two  hours  after  sun-set  he  had  heard 
the  firing  of  £;uns  in  distress  :  but  that  the  sea  was  so 
tempc>tuous,  no  boat  could  venture  out:  that  a  short 
time  after,  he  thought  he  perceived  tlie  glimmering  of 
the  watch-lights  en  board  the  vessel,  which  he  feared, 
by  its'ha-^ing  approached  so  near  the  coast,  had  steered 
between  the  main  land  and  the  little  island  of  Amber, 
mistaking  it  for  the  Point  of  Endeavor,  near  which  the 
•vessels  pass  in  order  to  gain  Port  Louis.  If  this  was  the 
case,  which  however  he  coukl  not  affirm,  the  ship  he  ap- 
prehended was  in  great  danger.  Another  islander  then 
informed  us,  that  he  had  frequently  crossed  the  channel 
which  separates  the  Isle  of  Amber  from  the  coast,  and 
which  he  had  sounded  ;  that  the  anchorage  was  good, 
and  that  the  ship  would  there  be  in  as  great  security  as  if 
it  were  in  harbor.  A  third  islander  declared  it  was»ini- 
possible  for  the  s'lip  to  enter  that  channel,  which  was 
scarcely  navigable  for  a  boat.  He  asserted,  that  he  had 
seen  the  vessel  at  anchor  beyond  the  Isle  of  Amber  ; 
so  that  if  the  wind  arose  in  the  morning,  it  could  either 
put  to  sea,  or  gain  the  harbor.  Different  opinions  were 
stated  upon   this  subject,    which  while  those  indolent 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  131 

Creoles  calmly  disciis-;ed,  Paul  and  I  observed  a  profound 
silence.  \\  e  remained  on  tiiis  spot  till  break  of  day, 
when  tlie  weatlier  was  loo  hazy  to  adniit  of  our  distin- 
guishing any  object  at  sea,  wliicli  was  covered  with  fog. 
All  we  could  descry  was  a  dark  cloud,  wliich  they  told 
us  was  the  Isle  of  Amber,  at  the  distance  of  a  quarter  of 
a  league  from  tlie  coast.  We  could  only  discern  on  this 
gloomy  day  the  point  of  the  beach  where  we  stood,  and 
tlie  peaks  of  some  mountains  in  the  interior  part  of  the 
island,  rising  occasionally  from  amidst  the  clouds  whicl» 
hung  around  tlicm, 

« 
At  seven   in   tlie  morning  we   heard  the   beat  of 

drums  in  the  woods  ;  and  soon  after  the  governor,  Mon- 
sieur de  Iti  Bourdoimais,  arrived  on  horseback,  followed 
by  a  detachment  of  soldiers  armed  with  muskets,  and 
a  great  number  of  islandci-3  and  blacks.  He  ranged  Jiis 
soldiers  upon  the  beacli,  and  ordered  them  to  make  a  ge- 
neral discharge,  which  was  no  sooner  done,  than  we  per- 
ceived a  glimmering  light  upon  tiic  water,  which  was  in- 
stantly succeeded  by  the  sound  of  a  gun.  We  judged 
that- tlie  ship  was  at  no  great  distance,  and  ran  toward? 
that  part  where  we  had  seen  tiie  light.  We  now  discern- 
ed through  the  fog  the  hulk  and  tackling  of  a  large  vesr 
scl  ;  and,  notwithstanding  the  noise  of  tiie  waves,  we 
were  near  enough  to  hear  the  wliistle  of  the  boatswain  at 
tlie  helm,  and  the  shouts  of  the  mariners.  As  soon  as 
the  Saiiit-Gcran  p'.'iceived  that  we  were  near  enough  to 


132  TAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

give  her  succor,  she  ccntînued  to  fire  guns  regularly  at 
the  interval  of  three  minutes.  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdon- 
nais caused  great  fires  to  be  liglited  at  certain  distances 
upon  the  strand,  and  sent  to  all  the  inhabitants  of  that 
neighborhood,  in  search  of  provisions,  planks,  cables, 
and  empty  barrels.  A  crowd  of  people  soon  arrived, 
accompanied  by  their  negroes,  loaded  with  provision» 
and  rigging.  One  of  the  most  aged  of  the  planters  ap- 
proaching the  governor,  said  to  him,  "  We  have  heard 
all  night  hoarse  noises  in  the  mountain,  and  in  the  fo- 
rests :  the  leaves  of  the  trees  are  shaken,  altliough  there 
is  no  wind  ;  the  sea-birds  seek  refuge  upon  the  land  :  It 
is  certain  that  all  those  signs  announce  an  hurricane." 
'*  Well,  my  friends,"  answered  the  governor,  "  we  arc 
prepared  for  it  ;  and  no  doubt  the  vessel  is  aU-o" 

Every  thing,  indeed,  presaged  the  near  approach 
of  the  hurricane.  The  centre  of  the  clouds  in  the  zenith 
was  of  a  dismal  black,  while  their  skirts  were  fringed 
with  a  copper-hue.  The  air  resounded  with  the  cries  of 
the  frigate-bird,  the  cur-water,  and  a  multitude  of  othet 
sea-birds,  who,  notwithstanding  tlie  obscurity  of  the  at- 
mosphere, hastened  from  all  points  of  the  horizon  to 
seek  for  shelter  in  the  island. 

Towards  nine  in  the  morning  we  heard  on  the 
side  of  the  ocean  the  most  terrific  noise,  as  if  torrents 
of  water,  mingled  with  thunder,  were  rolling  down  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  ]35 

steeps  of  tiie  niounlains.  A  general  cry  was  heard  of 
•'  There  is  the  hiirricaRC  !"  and  in  one  moment  a  fright- 
ful whirlwind  scattered  the  fog  whicii  had  covered  the 
Isle  of  Amber  and  its  channel.  The  Saint  Geran,  then 
presented  itself  to  our  view,  her  gallery  crowded  with 
people,  her  yards  and  main-top-mast  laid  upon  the  deck, 
her  flag  shivered,  with  four  cables  at  her  head,  and  one 
bv  which  she  was  held  at  the  stern.  She  had  anchored 
between  the  Isle  of  Amber  and  the  main  land,  within 
that  chain  of  breakers  which  encircles  the  island,  and 
■which  bar  she  had  passed  over  in  a  place  where  no  ves- 
sel had  ever  gone  before.  She  presented  her  head  to 
the  waves,  which  rolled  from  the  open  sea  ;  and  as  each 
billow  ruslu'd  into  the  straits,  the  sliip  heaved,  so  that 
her  keel  was  in  air  ;  and  at  the  same  moment,  her  stern, 
plunging  into  tiie  water,  disappeared  altogether,  as  if  it 
were  swallowed  up  by  tlie  surges.  In  this  position,  dri- 
ven by  the  winds  and  waves  towards  the  shore,  it  was 
eciiialiy  impossible  for  her  to  return  by  the  passage 
through  which  shj  had  made  her  way;  or,  by  cutting 
her  cables,  to  throw  herself  upon  the  beach,  from  which 
she  was  separated  by  sand  banks,  mingled  with  breakers. 
Every  billow  wiiicli  broke  upon  the  coast  advanced  roar- 
ing to  the  bottom  of  the  bay,  and  threw  ph.nks  to  the 
distance  of  fifty  feet  upon  the  land  ;  then  rushing  back, 
laid  bare  its  sandy  bed  ;  from  which  it  rolled  im.r.ense 
stone?,  with  a  hoarse  dismal  noise.  The  sea,  swelled  by 
the  violence  of  the  wind,  rose  higher  every  moiusnt  ; 
M 


134  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

aud  tlie  cliannel  between  this  island  and  the  Isle  of  Amber 
was  but  one  vast  sheet  of  white  foam,  with  yawning 
pits  of  black  deep  billo-vS.  Tiie  foam  boiling  in  the 
gulph  was  more  than  six  feet  high  ;  and  the  winds 
■which  swept  its  surface  bore  it  over  the  steep  coast  more 
than  half  a  league  upon  the  land.  Those  innumerable 
white  Hakes,  driven  horizontally  as  far  as  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  appeared  like  snow  issuing  from  the  ocean, 
which  was  now  confounded  with  the  sky.  Thick  clouds 
of  a  horrible  form  swept  along  the  zenith  with  the  swift- 
ness of  bnds,  while  others  appeared  motionless  as  rocks. 
No  spot  of  azure  could  be  discerned  in  the  firmament  ; 
only  a  pale  yellow  gleam  displayed  the  objects  of  earth, 
sea,  and  skies. 

From  the  violent  efforts  of  the  ship,  what  \fre 
dreaded  happened.  The  cables  at  the  head  of  the  ves- 
sel were  torn  away  ;  it  was  then  held  by  one  anchor 
only,  and  was  instantly  dashed  upon  the  rocks,  at  the 
distance  of  half  a  cable's  length  from  the  shore.  A  ge- 
neral cry  of  horror  issued  from  the  spectators.  Paul 
rushed  towards  the  sea,  when,  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  I 
exclaimed,  "Would  you  perish?"  "Let  me  go  to 
save  her,"  cried  he,  "  or  die  !"  Seeing  that  despair  had 
deprived  him  of  reason,  Domingo  and  I,  in  order  to 
preserve  him,  fastened  a  long  cord  round  his  waist,  and 
seized  hold  of  each  end.  Paul  then  precipitated  himself 
towards  the  ship,  now  swimming,  now  walking  upon  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  135 

breakers.  Sometimes  he  had  t'.ie  hope  of  reaching  the 
vessel,  which  (Jie  sea  in  its  irregular  movenients  had  left 
almost  dry,  so  tliat  you  could  have  made  its  circuit  on 
foot  ;  but  suddenly  the  waves,  advancing  with  new  fu- 
ry, sliroudcd  it  beneath  mountains  of  water,  wliich 
then  lifted  it  upright  upon  its  keel.  The  billows  at  the 
same  moment  threw  the  unfortunate  Paul  far  upon  the 
beach,  his  legs  bathed  in  blood,  his  bosom  wounded, 
and  himself  half  dead.  The  moment  he  had  recovered 
his  senses,  he  arose,  and  returned  with  new  ardor  to- 
wards the  vessel,  the  parts  of  which  now  yawned  asunder 
from  the  violent  strokes  of  the  billows.  The  crew  then, 
despairing  of  their  safety,  threw  themselves  in  crowds  into 
the  sea,  upon  yards,  p'.anks,  hen-coops,  tables,  and  bar- 
rels. At  this  moment  we  beheld  an  object  fitted  to  ex- 
cite eternal  synipathy  ;  a  young  lady  in  the  stem  of  the 
Saint-Geran,  stretching  out  her  arms  towards  iiim  wlio 
made  so  many  elTorts  to  join  her.  It  was  Virginia.  She 
had  discovered  her  lover  by  his  intrepidity.  The  sight  of 
tliis  amiable  young  woman,  exposed  to  such  horrible  dan- 
ger, filled  us  with  unutterable  despair.  As  for  ^'irgiIlia, 
with  a  firm  and  dignified  mein,  she  waved  her  liand,  as 
if  bidding  us  an  eternal  farewel.  AU  the  sailors  had 
flung  themselves  into  the  sea,  except  one,  who  still  re- 
mained upon  the  deck,  and  who  was  naked,  and  strong 
as  Hercules.  This  man  approaclied  \'irginia  with  res- 
pect, and  kneeling  at  her  feet,  attempted  to  force  her 
lotiirowoff  her  clothes;  but  she  repulsed- him  with  mo- 


136  ^AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

desty,  and  turned  away  her  head.  JThen  was  heard  re- 
doubled cries  from  the  spectators,  "  Save  her  !  Save  her  ! 
Do  not  leave  her  !"  But  at  that  moment  a  mountain 
billow,  of  enormous  magnitude,  ingulplied  itself  be- 
tween the  Isle  of  Amber  and  the  coast,  and  menaced 
the  shattered  vessel,  towards  which  it  rolled  bellowing, 
•with  its  black  sides  and  foaming  head.  At  this  terrible 
sight  the  sailor  flung  himself  into  the  sea  ;  and  Virginia, 
seeing  death  inevitable,  placed  one  hand  upon  lier 
clothes,  the  other  on  her  heart,  and  lifting  up  her  lovely 
eyes,  seemed  an  angel  prepared  to  take  her  flight  to 
heaven. 

Oh,  day  of  horror  !  Alas  !  every  thing  was  swal» 
]o"*-ed  up  by  the  relentless  billows.  The  surge  threw 
some  of  the  spectators  far  upon  the  beach,  whom  an  i  in- 
pulse  of  humanity  prompted  to  advance  towards  Vir- 
ginia, and  also  the  sailor  who  had  endeavored  to  save 
her  life.  This  man,  who  had  escaped  from  almost  cer- 
tcin  death,  kneeling  on  the  sand,  exclaimed,  "  Oh, 
my  God  !  thou  hast  saved  my  life,  but  I  would  have 
given  it  willingly  for  that  poor  young  woman  !" 

Domingo  and  myself  drew  Paul  senseless  to  th« 
shore,  the  blood  flowing  from  his  mouth  and  ears.  The 
governor  put  him  into  the  hands  of  a  surgeon,  while 
we  sought  aloipg  the  beach  for  the  corp-^e  of  Virginia. 
But  the  wind  having  suddenly  changed,  which  frequently 


f 


f  AUL  AND  VmCINIA.  137 

happens  during  liunicanes,  our  search  \vas  vain  ;  and 
■we  lamented  that  we  could  not  even  pay  this  unfortunate 
young  woman  tlie  last  sad  sepulchral  duties. 

We  retired  from  tlie  spot  overwhelmed  with  dismay, 
and  our  minds  wholly  occupied  by  one  cruel  loss,  al- 
though numbers  had  perished  in  the  wreck.  Some  of 
the  spectators  seemed  tempted,  from  the  fatal  destiny  of 
this  virtuous  young  woman,  to  doubt  the  existence  of 
Providence.  Alas!  there  are  in  life  such  teiTible,  such 
unmerited  evils,  that  even  the  hope  of  the  wise  is  some- 
times shaken. 

In  the  mean  time  Paul,  who  began  to  recover  his 
senses,  was  taken  to  a  house  in  the  neighborhood,  till  lie 
was  able  to  be  removed  to  his  own  habitation.  Thither  I 
bent  my  way  with  Domingo,  and  undertook  the  sad  task 
of  preparing  Virginia's  motiicr  and  her  fnend  for  the  me- 
lancholy event  tliat  had  happened.  When  wc  reached 
the-  entrance  of  the  valley  of  the  riv(rr  of  Fan-Palms, 
some  negroes  informed  us  that  the  sea  had  thrown  many 
pieces  of  the  wreck  into  the  oppoite  bay.  We  descend- 
ed towards  it  ;  and  one  of  the  first  objects  which  struck 
my  sight  upon  the  beach  was  the  corpse  of  Virginia. 
Tlie  body  was  half  covered  with  sand,  and  in  the  alti- 
tude in  which  we  had  seen  her  perish.  lier  features 
were  not  changed  ;  lier  eyes  were  closed,  her  counte- 
nance was  still  serene  ;  but  the  pale  violets  of  dcalli 
M  2 


138  I*Al-L  AND  VmCIMA. 

were  blcnJed  on  her  clicck  wit'u  tlie  blusli  of  \irgin 
modest}'.  One  of  her  hands  was  placed  upon  her  clothes  ; 
and  the  oilier,  which  she  held  on  lier  heart,  was  fast 
closed,  and  so  stiffened,  that  it  was  witli  difliciiUy  I  look 
from  its  grasp  a  small  box.  How  great  was  my  emo- 
tion, when  I  saw  it  contained  the  picture  of  Paul,  which 
she  had  promised  him  never  to  part  with  while  she  lived  ! 
At  the  sight  of  tiiis  last  mark  of  the  fidelity  and  tender- 
ness of  the  u|iforUinale  girl,  I  wept  bitlerly.  As  for  Do- 
mingo, he  beat  his  breast,  and  pierced  tiie  air  with  his 
cries.  We  carried  the  body  of  Virginia  to  a  fisher's  hut, 
and  gave  it  in  charge  to  some  poor  Malabar  women, 
who  carefully  washed  away  the  sand. 

While  they  were  employed  in  this  melancholy  of» 
fice,  we  ascended  witli  IrembUng  steps  to  the  plantation. 
We  found  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  Margaret  at  prayer, 
-wliile  wailing  for  tidings  from  the  ship.  As  soon  as  Ma- 
dame de  la  1  our  saw  me  coming,  she  eagerly  cried, 
"  Where  is  my  child,  my  dear  child  ?"  My  silence 
and  my  tears  apprized  her  of  her  misfortune.  She  was 
seized  with  convulsive  stifiings,  wilii  agonizing  pains, 
and  her  voice  was  only  heard  in  groans.  Margaret  cried, 
"  Where  is  my  son  ?  I  do  not  see  my  sori  !"  and  fainted. 
We  ran  to  her  assistance.  In  a  short  time  she  recovered  ; 
and  being  assured  that  her  son  was  safe,  and  under  the 
care  ofc the  governor,  she  only  thought  of  succoring  her 
friend,  who  had  long  successive  faintings.     Madame  de 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  139 

la  Tour  pa->sccl  the  niglit  insuiTerings  so  exquisite,  that  I 
bjcaine  convinced  there  was  no  sorrow  like  a  mother's 
sorrow.  When  she  recovered  lier  senses,  she  cast  her  lan- 
guid and  stedfast  looks  on  heaven.  In  vain  her  friend 
and  myself  pressed  her  liands  in  ours  :  in  vain  we  called 
upon  her  by  tlie  most  tender  names  ;  she  appeared  whol- 
ly insensible  ;  and  her  oppressed  bosom  heaved  deep 
and  holiow  moans. 

In  the  morning  Paul  was  brought  home  in  a  palan- 
quin. He  was  now  restored  to  reason,  but  unable  to  ut- 
ter a  word.  His  interview  with  his  mother  and  Madame 
de  la  Tour,  which  I  !iad  dreaded,  produced  abetter  ef- 
fect than  all  my  cares.  A  ray  of  consolation  gleamed 
upon  the  countenances  of  those  unfortunate  mothers. 
They  ilew  to  meet  him,  clasped  him  in  their  arms, 
and  bathed  him  with  tears,  which  excess  of  anguish  had 
till  now  forbidden  to  flow.  Paul  mixed  his  tears  with 
theirs;  and  nature  having  thus  found  relief,  a  long  stu- 
por succeeded  the  convulsive  pangs  tiiey  had  suiTered, 
and  gave  them  a  lethargic  repose  like  that  of  death. 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdoi-;nais  sent  to  afiprize  me 
secretly  that  the  corpse  of  Virginia  had  been  borne  to  the 
town  by  liis  order,  from  whence  it  was  to  be  transferred 
to  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove.  I  hastened  to 
Port  Louis,  and  found  a  multitude  assembled  i^m  all 
parts,  in  order  to  be  present  at  llic  funeral  solemnity,  as 


140  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

if  the  whole  island  had  lost  its  fairest  oriianient.  The 
vessels  in  tiie  harbor  had  their  yards  crossed,  their  flags 
hoisted,  and  fired  guns  at  intervals.  Tiie  grenadiers 
led  the  funeral  procession,  with  their  niHsqucls  reversed, 
tlieir  drums  niuiïlcd,  and  sending  forth  slow  dismal 
sounds.  Eiglit  young  ladies  of  the  most  considerable 
families  of  tlie  island,  dressed  in  white,  and  bearing 
palms  in  their  hands,  supported  the  pail  of  their  amiable 
companion,  which  was  strewed  v.ilh  flowers.  They 
were  followed  by  a  band  of  children,  chaunting  hymns, 
and  by  the  governor,  his  field  officers,  all  the  principal 
inhabitants  of  the  island,  and  an  immense  crowd  of  people. 

This  funeral  solemnity  had  been  ordered  by  the 
administration  of  the  country,  who  were  desirous  of  ren- 
dering honors  to  the  virtue  of  Virginia.  But  when  the 
procession  arrived  at  the  foot  of  this  mountain,  at  the 
sis:ht  of  those  cottages,  of  which  she  had  so  long  been 
the  ornament  and  happiness,  and  which  her  loss  now 
fiiitnl  with  despair,  the  funeral  pomp  was  interrupted, 
the  hymns  and  anthems  ceased,  and  the  plain  resounded 
with  sighs  and  lamentations.  Companies  of  young 
girls  ran  from  tlie  neighboring  plantations  to  touch 
tiie  coffin  of  \'irginia  with  their  scarfs,  chaplcts,  and 
crowns  of  flowers,  invoking  her  as  a  saint.  Mothers 
asked  of  Heaven  a  child  like  \'irginia  ;  lovers  a  heart 
as  faithful  :  the  poor,  as  tender  a  friend  ;  and  the  sUves, 
93  kind  a  mistress. 


I^AUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  141 

When  the  procession  had  reached  the  place  of  in- 
terment, tlie  négresses  of  Madagascar,  and  the  caffres 
of  Mosanibiac,  placed  basi<ets  offrait  arouiii  the  corpse, 
and  hung  pieces  of  stutT  upon  the  neighboring  trees, 
according  to  the  custom  of  their  country.  The  Indians 
t>{  Bengal,  and  of  t lie  coast  of  Malabar,  brought  cages 
filled  wilh  birds,  which  they  set  at  lil)erty  upon  her  cof- 
fin. Thus  did  the  loss  of  this  amiable  object  affect  the 
natives  of  different  countries,  and  thus  was  the  ritual  of 
various  religions  breathed  over  the  tomb  of  unfortunate 
•virtue. 

She  was  interred  near  the  church  of  the  Shaddock 
Grove,  upon  the  western  side,  attiie  foot  of  a  copse  of 
bamboos,  wlieres  in  coming  from  mass  with  her  mo- 
ther and  Margaret,  she  loved  to  repose  herself,  seated  by 
him  whom  she  called  her  brother. 

On  his  return  from  the  funeral  solemnity.  Mon- 
sieur de  la  Bourdoniiais  came  hither,  followed  by  part 
of  his  numerous  train.  He  offered  Madame  de  la  Tour 
and  her  friend  all  the  assistance  which  it  was  in  his 
power  to  bestow.  After  expressing  his  indignation  at  tlie 
conduct  of  her  unnatural  aunt,  he  advanced  to  Paul,  and 
said  every  thing  which  he  thought  most  likely  to  sooth 
and  console  him.  "  Heaven  is  my  witness,"  said  he, 
"  that  I  wished  to  ensure  your  happiness,  and  that  of 
your  family.     My  dear  friend,  you  must  go  to  France  : 


142  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

I  will  obtain  a  commission  for  you,  and  during  your  ab- 
sence will  take  the  same  care  of  your  mother  as  if  she 
vere  my  r.*.n."  He  tiien  otTered  him  his  hand  ;  but 
Paul  drew  away,  and  turned  his  head,  unable  to  bear 
bis  sight. 

I  REMAINED  at  the  plantation  of  my  unfortunate 
friends,  that  I  might  render  to  them  and  Paul  tliose  of- 
fices of  friendship  which  soften,  though  they  cannot 
cure,  calamity.  At  the  end  of  three  weeks  Paul  was 
able  to  walk,  yet  his  mind  seemed  to  droop  in  propor- 
tion as  his  frame  gathered  strength.  He  was  insensible 
to  every  thing  ;  his  look  was  vacant  ;  and  when  spoken 
tOj  he  made  no  reply.  Madame  de  la  Tour,  who  was 
dying,  said  to  him  oflen,  "  My  son,  while  I  look  at 
you  1  tliink  I  see  Virginia."  At  the  name  of  Virginia 
he  shuddered,  and  hastened  from  her,  notwithstanding 
the  intrealies  of  his  mother,  v.h.o  called  him  back  to  her 
friend.  He  used  to  wander  into  the  garden,  and  seat 
liimself  at  the  foot  of  Virginia's  cocoa-tree,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  fountain.  The  surgeon  to  the  governor, 
who  had  shewn  tlie  most  humane  attention  to  Paul, 
and  the  whole  family,  told  us  that,  in  order  to  cure  that 
deep  iTielancholy  which  had  taken  possession  of  his 
mind,  we  must  allow  him  to  do  whatever  he  pleased, 
without  contradiction,  as  the  only  means  of  conquering 
his  inflexible  silence. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  143 

I  RESOLVED  to  follow  this  advice.  Tlie  first  use 
x^hich  Paul  made  of  liis  returning  strength  was  to  absent 
himself  from  the  plantation.  Being  determined  not  to 
lose  sight  of  liim,  I  set  out  immediately,  and  desired 
Domingo  to  take  some  provisions  and  accompany  us. 
Paul's  strength  and  '^pirits  seemed  renewed  as  he  de- 
scended (he  mountain.  He  took  the  road  of  the  Siiad- 
dock  Grove;  and  when  lie  was  near  the  cliurch,  in  the 
Alley  of  Bamboos,  he  walked  directly  to  the  spot 
•where  he  saw  some  new-laid  earth,  and  there  kneeling 
down,  and  raising  up  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he  offered  up 
a  long  prayer,  which  appeared  to  me  a  symptom  of  re- 
turning reason  ;  since  (his  mark  of  confidence  in  tiie  Su- 
preme Bluing  sh.  wed  that  his  mind  began  to  resume  its 
natural  functions.  Domingo  and  I  followed  his  exam- 
ple, fell  upon  our  knees,  and  mingled  our  prayers 
with  his.  When  he  arose,  he  bent  his  way,  paying  little 
attention  to  us,  towards  the  northern  part  of  the  island. 
As  we  knew  that  he  was  not  only  ignorant  of  the  spot 
where  the  body  of  Virginia  was  laid,  but  even  whether 
it  had  been  snatciied  from  the  waves,  I  asked  him  why 
he  had  offered  up  liis  prayer  at  the  toot  of  those  bamboos. 
He  answered,  '*  We  have  been  there  so  often  1"  He 
continued  his  course  until  we  reached  the  borders  of  the 
forest,  when  night  came  on.  I  prevailed  with  liim  to 
take  some  nourishment  ;  and  we  slept  upon  the  grass  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree.  The  next  day  I  thought  he  seemed 
disposed  to  trace  back  his  steps  ;  for,  after  havijig  gazed 


144  I'^^^^L  AND  VIRGINL\. 

n  considerable  time  upon  the  church  of  the  Shaddock 
Grove,  vviti»  its  avenues  of  bamboo  stretching  along  the 
plain,  he  made  a  motion  as  if  he  would  return  ;  but, 
suddenly  plunging  into  the  forest,  he  directed  his  course 
to  the  nortii.  I  judged  what  was  his  design,  from 
which  I  endi-avorcd  to  dissuade  him  in  vain.  At  noon 
•we  arrived  at  that  part  of  the  island  called  the  Golden- 
Dust,  lie  rushed  to  the  sea-shore,  opposite  to  the  spot 
where  the  Saint-Geran  perished.  At  the  sight  of  the 
Isle  of  Amber,  and  its  channel,  then  smooth  as  a  mir- 
ror, he  cried,  "  ^'irginia  !  Oh  !  my  dear  ^'irginia  !" 
and  fell  seneless.  Domingo  and  myself  carried  him  in- 
to the  woods,  where  we  recovered  liim  with  some  diffi- 
culty. He  made  an  effort  to  return  to  the  sea-shore  ;  but, 
having  conjured  him  not  to  renew  his  own  anguish  and 
ours  by  those  cruel  remembrances,  he  took  another  di- 
rection. During  eight  days,  he  sougiit  every  spot 
•wJiere  he  liad  once  wandered  with  the  companion  of  his 
childhood.  He  traced  the  path  by  which  she  had  gone 
to  intercede  for  tlic  slave  of  the  Black  River.  He  gaz- 
ed again  upon  the  banks  of  the. Three  Peaks,  where  she 
had  reposed  herself  when  unable  to  walk  further,  and 
upon  that  part  of  the  wood  where  they  lost  their  way. 
All  those  haunis,  which  recalled  the  inquietudes,  the 
sports,  the  repasts,  the  benevolence  of  her  he  loved, 
the  river  of  the  Sloping  Mountain,  my  house,  the  neigh- 
boring cascade,  the  papaw-tree  she  had  planted ,  the  mos- 
sy downs  wliere  she  loved  to  run,  the  openings  of  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  145 

forest  where  slie  used  to  sing,  called  forth  successively 
the  tears  of  hopeless  passion;  and  those  very  echoes 
■which  had  so  often  resounded  their  mutual  shouts  of  joy, 
now  only  repeated  those  ^accents  of  despair,  "^Virginia  ! 
Oh,  my  dear  Virginia  !" 

While   he  led  this  savage  and  wandering  life,  his 
eyes  became  sunk  and  hollow,  his  skin  assumed  a  yel- 
low tint,   and  his  health  rapidly  decayed.     Convinced 
that  present  sufferings  are  rendered  more  acute  by  the 
bitter  recollection  of  past   pleasures,  and  that  the  pas- 
sions gather  strength  in  solitude,  1  resolved  to  tear  my 
unfortunate  friend  from  those  scenes  which  recalled  the 
remembrance  of  his  loss,  and  to  lead  him  to  a  mor«  bu- 
sy part  of  the  island.     With  this  view,  I  conducted  him 
to  the  inhabited  heights  of  Williams,  which  he  had  ne- 
ver visited,  and  where  agriculture  and  commerce  ever 
occasioned  much  bustle  and  variety.     A  crowd  of  car- 
penters  were  employed  in  hewing  down  the  trees,  while 
others  were  sawing  planks.     Carriages  were  passing  and 
repassing  on  the  roads.     Numerous  herds  of  oxen  and 
troops  of  horses  were  feeding  on  tliose  ample  meadows, 
over  which  a  number  of  habitations  were  scattered.     On 
many  spots  the  elevation  of  the  soil  was  favorable  to  the 
culture  of  European  trees  :  ripe  corn  waved  its  yello\» 
sheaves  u|X)n  the    plains  ;  strawberry  plants  flourished 
in  the  openings  of  the  woods,  and  hedges  of  rose-bushes 
along  the  roads.     The  freshness  of  the  air,  by  giving  a 
N 


146  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

tension  to  the  nerves,  was  favorable  to  the  Europeans, 
From  those  heights,  situated  near  the  middle  of  the 
island,  and  surrounded  by  extensive  forests,  you  could 
neither  discern  Port  Louis,  the  church  of  the  Siiaddock 
Grove,  or  any  other  object  which  could  recal  to  Paul 
the  remembrance  of  Virginia.  Even  the  mountains, 
which  appear  of  various  shapes  on  the  side  of  Port 
Louis,  present  nothing  to  the  eye  from  those  plains,  but 
a  long  promontory,  stretching  itself  in  a  straight  and 
perpendicular  line,  from  whence  arise  lofty  pyramids  of 
rocks,  on  the  summits  of  which  the  clouds  repose. 

To  those  scenes  I  conducted  Paul,  and  kept  him 
continually  in  action,  walking  with  him  in  rain  and 
sunshine,  night  and  day,  and  contriving  that  he  should 
lose  himself  in  the  depths  of  forests,  leading  him  over 
untilled  grounds^  and  endeavoring,  by  violent  fatigue, 
to  divert  his  mind  from  its  gloomy  meditations,  and 
change  the  course  of  his  reflections,  by  the  ignorance  of 
the  paths  where  we  wandered.  But  the  soul  of  a  lover 
finds  every  where  the  traces  of  the  object  beloved.  The 
night  and  the  day,  the  calm  of  solitude,  and  the  tu- 
mult of  crowds,  time  itself,  while  it  casts  the  shade  of 
oblivion  over  so  many  other  remembrances,  in  vain 
would  tear  the  tender  and  sacred  recollection  from  the 
heart  ;  which,  like  the  needle  when  touched  by  the 
loadstone,  however,  it  may  have  been  forced  into  agi- 
tation, is  no  sooner  left  to  repose,  than  it  turns  to  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  147 

pole  by  which  it  was  attracted.  When  I  enquired  of 
Paul,  while  we  wandered  among  the  plains  of  Williams, 
"  Where  are  we  now  going  ?"  He  pointed  to  the  north, 
and  said,  "  Yonder  are  our  mountains  ;  let  us  return.** 

Upon  tlie  whole,  I  found  that  every  means  I  took 
to  divert  his  melancholy  was  fruitless,  and  that  no  re- 
source was  left  but  an  attempt  to  combat  his  passion  by 
the  arguments  wliich  reason  suggested.  I  answered 
him,  "  Yes,  there  are  the  mountains  where  once  dwe\t 
your  beloved  Virginia  ;  and  this  is  the  picture  you  gave 
her,  and  which  she  held  when  dying  to  her  heart,  that 
heart  which  even  in  her  last  moments  only  beat  for  you.'* 
I  then  gave  Paul  the  little  picture  which  he  had  given 
Virginia  at  the  borders  of  the  cocoa-tree  fountain.  At 
this  sigiit  a  gloomy  joy  overspread  his  looks.  He  eager- 
ly seized  the  picture  with  his  feeble  hands,  and  held  it 
to  his  lips.  His  oppressed  bosom  seemed  to  burst  with 
emotion,  and  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  whicii  had 
no  power  to  flow, 

"  My  son,"  said  I,  "listen  to  him  who  is  your 
friend,  who  was  the  friend  of  Virginia,  and  who,  in  the 
bloom  of  your  hopes,  endeavored  to  fortify  your  mind 
against  the  unforeseen  accidents  of  life.  What  do  you 
deplore  with  so  much  bitterness  ;  Your  own  misfortunes, 
or  those  of  Virginia  ?  Your  own  misfortunes  are  indeed 
severe.     You    have  lost  the  most  amiable  of  womea  ; 


148  PAUL  AND  VmCINIA. 

slie  wlio  sacrificed  her  own  interests  to  yours,  v:ho  pre- 
ferred you  to  all  that  fortune  could  bestow,  and  consi- 
dered you  as  the  only  recompence  worthy  of  her  virtues. 
But  might  not  this  Tcry  object,  from  whom  you  expected 
the  purest  happiness,  have  proved  to  you  a  source  of 
the  most  cruel  distress  ?  She  had  returned  poor,  disin- 
herited ;  and  all  you  could  henceforth  have  partaken 
with  her  was  your  labors  ;  while  rendered  more  delicate 
by  her  education,  and  more  courageous  by  her  misfor- 
tunes, you  would  have  beheld  her  every  day  sinking  be- 
neath her  efforts  to  share  and  soften  your  fatigues.  Had 
she  brought  you  children,  this  would  have  served  only 
to  increase  her  inquietudes  and  your  own,  from  the  difïï- 
culty  of  sustaining  your  aged  parents  and  jour  infant  fa- 
mily. You  will  tell  me,  there  would  have  been  reserved 
to  you  an  happiness  independent  of  fortune,  that  of 
protecting  a  beloved  object,  which  attaches  itself  to  ui 
in  proportion  to  its  helplessness  ;  that  your  pains  and  suf- 
ferings would  have  served  to  endear  you  to  each  other, 
and  that  your  passion  would  have  gathered  strength 
from  your  mutual  misfortunes.  Undoubtedly,  virtuous 
love  can  shed  a  charm  over  pleasures  which  are  thus  min- 
gled with  bitterness.  But  Virginia  is  no  more  ;  yet  those 
persons  still  live,  whom,  next  to  yourself,  she  held  most 
dear  ;  her  mother,  and  your  own,  whom  your  inconso- 
lable affliction  is  bending  with  sorrow  to  the  grave. 
riaceyour  happiness,  as  she  did  hers,  in  affording  them 
succor.     And   why  deplore  the  fate  of  Virginia  ?  Vir- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  jj^g 

ginia    stiil    exists.     Tlicre  is,  be    assured,  a  region,  in 
wliich  virtue  receives  its  reward.     Virgiuia  now  is  hap- 
py.    Ah!  if,  from  the  abode  of  angels,  she  could  tell 
you,  as  she  did  when  she  bid  you  farewel,  '  O  Paul  ! 
life  is  but  a  trial.     I  was  faithful  to  the  laws  of  nature, 
love  and  virtue.     Heaven  found  I  had  fulfilled  my  du- 
ties,   and  has  snatched  ine  for  ever  from  all  the  miseries 
I  might  have  endured  myself,  and  all  I  might  have  felt 
from  the  miseries  of  others.     I  am  placed  above  the  reach 
of  all  human  evils,  and  you  pity  me  !  lam  become  pure 
and  unchangeable  as  a  particle  of  light,  and  you  would 
recal  me  to  the  darkness  of  Jiuman  life  !  O  Paul  !  O,   \ 
my  beloved  friend  !  recollect  those  days  of  happiness, 
when  in  the  morning  we  felt  the  delightful  sensations 
excited  by  the  unfolding  beauties  of  nature  ;  when  we 
gazed  upon  the  sun   gilding  the  peaks  of  those  rocks, 
and  then  spreading  his  rays  over  t!ie  bosom  of  the  fo- 
rests.    IIow  exquisite  were  our  emollons  while  we  enjov- 
cd  the  glowing  colors  of  the  opening  day,  the  odors  of 
our  shrubs,  the  concerts  of  our  birds!    Now,    at  tho 
source  of  beauty,  from  which  flows  all  that  is  delightful 
u]jon  earth,  my  soul  intuitively  sees,  tastes,  hears,  touciies, 
what  before  she  could  only  be  made  sen'-ible  of  through 
the  medium  of  our  weak  organs.     Ah  !  what  language 
can  describe  those  shores  of  eternal  bliss  which  I  inlia- 
bit  for  ever  !  All  that  infinite  power  and  celestial  bounty, 
can  confer,  that  harmony  which  results  from  friendship 
with  numberless  beings,  exulting  in  the  same  felicity,  wq 
V  '^ 


150  ^^^UL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

enjoy  in  unmixed  perfection.  Support  then  the  trial 
which  is  allotted  you,  that  you  may  heighten  the  happi- 
ness of  your  Virginia  by  love  which  will  know  no  termi- 
nation, by  hynieneals  which  will  be  immortal.  There  I 
will  calm  your  regrets,  I  will  wipe  away  your  tears.  Oh, 
my  beloved  friend  !  my  husband  !  raise  your  thoughts 
'  towards  infinite  duration,  and  bear  the  evils  of  a  moment." 

My  own  emotion  choaked  my  utterance.  Paul 
looking  at  me  stedfastly,  cried,  "  She  is  no  more  !  She 
is  no  more  !"  and  a  long  fainting  fit  succeeded  that  me- 
lancholy exclamation.  When  restored  to  himself,  he 
said,  "  Since  death  is  a  good,  and  since  Virginia  is  hap- 
py, I  would  die  too,  and  be  united  to  Virginia."  Thus 
the  motives  of  consolation  I  had  offered,  only  served  to 
nourish  his  despair.  I  was  ]j^e  a  man  who  attempts  to 
save  a  friend  sinking  in  the  midst  of  a  flood,  and  refusing 
to  swim.  Sorrow  had  overwhelmed  his  soul.  Alas  !  the 
misfortunes  of  early  years  prepare  man  for  the  strugglei 
of  life  :  but  Paul  had  never  known  adversity. 

1  LED  him  back  to  his  own  dwelling,  where!  found 
his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  in  a  state  of  increas- 
ed lan^or,  but  Margaret  drooped  most.    Those  lively 
haracters  upon  which  light  afflictions  make  a  small  im- 
pression, are  least  capable  of  resisting  great  calamities. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  1,5 1 

"  Oh,  my  good  friend,"  said  Margaret,  "  me- 
thoiight  last  night  I  saw  Virginia  dressed  in  white,  amidst 
delicious  bowers  and  gardens.  She  said  to  me,  *  I  enjoy 
the  most  perfect  happiness  ;'  and  then  approaching  Paul 
■with  a  sinihng  air,  she  bore  hin*  away.  While  I  strug- 
gled to  retain  my  son,  I  felt  that  1  myself  was  quitting 
the  earth,  and  that  I  followed  him  witli  inexpressible  de- 
light. I  then  wished  to  bid  my  friend  farewel,  when  I 
saw  she  was  hastening  after  me  with  Mary  and  Domin- 
go. But  what  seems  most  strange  is,  that  Madame  de 
la  Tour  has  this  very  nigiit  had  a  dream  attended  with 
tlie  same  circumstances." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  I  replied,  "  nothing  I  believe 
happens  in  this  world  without  the  permissionpf  God. 
Dreams  sometimes  foretel  the  truth." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  related  to  me  her  dream, 
which  was  exactly  similar  ;  and,  as  I  had  never  observed 
in  either  of  those  persons  any  propensity  to  superstition,  I 
•was  struck  with  the  singular  coincidence  of  tl\eir  dreams^ 
which  I  had  little  doubt  would  be  soon  realized. 

What  I  expected  took  place.  Paul  died  two 
months  after  the  death  of  his  Virginia,  whose  name 
dwelt  upon  his  lips  even  in  his  expiring  moments. 
Eight  days  after  the  death  of  her  son,  Margaret  saw 
her  last  hour  approach  with  that  serenity  which  virtue 


152  I'-^UL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

only  can  feel.  She  bade  Madame  de  la  Tour  the  most 
tender  farewel,  "In  the  liope,"  she  said,  "of  a  sweet 
and  eternal  re-iiiiion.  Dcatli  istlie  most  precious  good," 
added  she  ;  "  and  we  ought  to  desire  it.  If  life  be  a 
punisliment,  we  sliould  wish  for  its  termination  ;  if  it  be  a 
trial,  we  should  be  tiiankful  that  it  is  short." 

The  governor  took  care  of  Domingo  and  Mary, 
who  were  no  longer  able  to  labor,  aud  who  survived 
their  mistresses  but  a  short  time.  As  for  poor  Fidèle, 
he  pined  to  death,  at  the  period  he  lost  his  master. 

I  CONDUCTED  Madame  de  la  Tour  to  my  dwel- 
ling, and  she  bore  her  calamities  with  elevated  fortitude. 
She  had  endeavored  to  con7fort  Paul  and  Margaret  till 
their  last  moments,  as  if  she  herself  had  no  agonies  to 
bear.  When  they  were  no  more,  she  used  to  talk  of 
them  as  of  beloved  friends  from  whom  she  was  not  dis- 
tant. She  survived  them  but  one  month.  Far  from  re- 
proaching her  aunt  for  those  afflictions  she  had  caused, 
her  benign  spirit  prayed  to  God  to  pardon  her,  and  to 
appease  that  remorse  which  the  consequences  of  her 
cruelty  would  probably  awaken  in  her  breast. 

I  HEARD,  by  successive  vessels  which  arrived  from 
Europe,  that  this  unnatural  relation,  haunted  by  a  trou- 
bled conscience,  accused  herself  continually  of  the  un- 
timely  fate  of  her  lovely  niece,    and  the  death  of  her 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  155 

mother,  and  became  at  intervals  bcieft  of  lier  reason. 
Her  relatione,  whom  she  hated,  took  the  direction  of 
her  fortune,  after  shutting  her  up  as  a  lunatic,  tliougli 
she  possessed  suflficient  use  of  her  reason  to  teel  all  tiie 
pangs  of  her  dreadful  situation,  and  died  at  Icnglli  in 
agonies  of  despair. 

The  body  of  Paul  was  placed  by  tiie  side  of  his  Vir- 
ginia, attliefoot  of  the  same  shrubs  ;  and  on  that  hal- 
lowed spot  the  remains  of  iheir  tender  mothers  and  their 
faithful  servants  are  laid.  No  marble  covers  the  turf,  no 
inscription  records  their  virtues  ;  but  their  memory  is  en- 
graven upon  our  hearts  in  characters  which  are  indeli- 
ble ;  and  surely  if  Ihoso  pure  spirits  still  take  an  inter- 
est i  n  what  passes  upon  earth,  tliey  Iove«to  wander  be- 
neath the  roofs  of  those  dwellings  which  are  inliabited 
by  industrious  virtue,  to  console  the  poor  who  complain 
.of  ihfir  destiny,  to  cherish  in  the  hearts  of  lovers  th«  sa- 
cred flame  of  fuK'lity,  to  inspire  a  taste  for  the  blessings 
of  nature,  the   love  of  labor,  and  the  dread  of  riches. 

The  voice  of  the  people,  which  is  often  silent  with 
regard  to  those  monuments  reared  to  flatter  the  pride  of 
kings,  has  given  tosoine  puts  of  this  island  names  which 
will  immortalize  the  loss  of  ^'irginia.  Near  the  Isle  of 
Amber,  in  the  3nidst  of  sand-banks  is  a  spot  called  the 
Pass  of  Saint-Geran,  from  the  name  of  the  vessel  which 
there  perished.     Tiie  extremity  of  that    point  of  land. 


154  I'AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

which  is  three  leagues  distant,  and  half  covered  by  the 
waves,  and  wliich  the  Saint-Geian  could  not  double  on 
the  night  preceding  the  hurricane,  is  called  the  Cape  of 
Misfortune  ;  and  before  us,  at  the  end  of  the  valley, 
is  the  Bay  of  the  Tomb,  where  Virginia  was  found  bu- 
ried in  tiie  sand  ;  as  if  the  waves  had  sought  to  restore 
her  corpse  to  her  family,  tliat  they  might  render  it  the 
last  sad  duties  on  thosQ  shores  of  which  her  innocence 
had  been  the  ornament. 

Ye  faithful  lovers,  who  are  so  tenderly  united  !  un- 
fortunate mothers  !  beloved  family  !  those  woods  which 
sheltered  you  with  tiicir  foliage,  tliose  fountains  which 
flowed  for  you,  those  hillocks  upon  which  you  reposed, 
still  deplore  your  loss  !  No  one  has  since  presumed  to 
cultivate  that  desolated  ground,  or  repair  those  fallen 
huts.  Your  goats  are  become  wild,  your  orchards  are 
destroyed,  your  birds  are  fled,  and  nothing  is  heard  but 
the  cry  of  tiie  sparrow-hawk,  who  skims  around  the 
valley  of  rocks.  As  for  rnyself,  since  I  behold  yeu  no 
more,  I  am  like  a  father  bereft  of  his  children,  like  a 
traveller  who  wanders  over  the  earth  desolate  and  alone." 

În  saying  those  words,  the  good  old  man  retired 
shedding  tears,  and  mine  had  often  flowed  during  this 
melancholy  narration. 

THE    END. 


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